New Horizons
by Shatterdoll
Summary: America finds England to be just a bit...boring. When he finds a pocket watch that takes him back in time, however, a glimpse of the man England once was may change that. Pirate!EnglandxAmerica, Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone~ So here's that Pirate!England (from now on to be referenced in notes as Pengland) and America story I mentioned starting back in December -laughs-

I apologize in advance for how utterly historically inaccurate this is sure to be. Please believe me when I say that I will do my best but an Elizabethan era historian I am not. Please, if you can tolerate it look kindly on my poor attempt and let the little details slide. (Though if something is painfully inaccurate you can tell me and I will try to fix it -laughs-)

**Disclaimer: **Hetalia is certainly not owned by me in any way.

* * *

America knocks on the door, blowing his watermelon flavored gum into a bubble half the size of his head. It pops as England opens the door. "...Charming as always Alfred."

After using his tongue to help him collect the gum back into his mouth again he grins. "Thanks, I know."

England shakes his head and stands aside. "Come in."

America enters and looks around vaguely. "So what's happening England? Are you going to offer me food or what?"

England scowls. "All you care about is food. Shouldn't a hero care about more than just food? Self-proclaimed or otherwise?"

America looks at him indignantly. "I think of tons of things! So many things it would make your head explode. Of course I do, I'm a hero aren't I?"

"Do you want tea?"

America considers him sulkily. "Never mind, your tastes will never be a match for my own."

England roles his eyes. "I'm making tea. I'll be back in a few minutes. Go make yourself comfortable until then."

"Make me coffee!" America yells after him before heading off to England's sitting room. He sits for a moment before standing and walking around restlessly. Every so often England would randomly invite him over for no real reason. He never understands why and a lot of the time he avoids it as England tends to lecture him a lot but he had been particularly bored when he accepted for today.

America stops next to a calendar with a picture of some quaint seascape. His eyes scan over the various things written for the dates. Listlessly he reaches up and starts scanning the next page. His eyes widen curiously as he reaches the end of the month. One of the last days is circled with a red pen and the words 'Visit Coast' are written. Unlike the other detailed entries that fill the rest of the boxes, that is all that is written.

England enters the room holding two cups. "Here's your coffee. Someday I do hope you return to the majesty of tea."

America takes it, sticking his gum to the side of the rim much to England's disgust. "Hey... Hey England, you're going to the coast next month? You should take me with you! I wanna go, okay? Please? That'd be awesome!"

England flushes. "Y-you want to go with me to the coast? Ah, I guess if you... Wait, when did you say that was?"

America gestures to the calendar with one hand. "It says you're going to the coast next month! I want to come. That would be way more exciting than sitting in your house!"

A strange look comes over England's face for a moment. One that America has not seen in a while. Something akin to deep grief. It disappears so quickly it's hard for him to know if he has even seen it. "...Arthur?"

England shakes his head. "N-no I am sorry but you can't come with me that day. There's... something I have to do."

"What? Tell me, I want to know! You just don't want me to come right?"

England blows on his tea, face grim. "I have to settle a bet."

America frowns. "You're going to the coast to settle a bet? Since when did you become a gambling man? With who? Oh man, was it France? Is he going to humiliate you?"

England is obviously reluctant to talk about it but America just loves pushing his buttons. "Tell me! Come on, I promise I won't tell anyone if it's embarrassing."

"I have to drop 100 pounds into the ocean."

America stares at him blankly. "...You mean money right?"

England pinches the bridge of his nose. "Of course I bloody well mean money!"

"You should give it to me instead! If I convert it into US dollars I'll make a profit! What kind of stupid ass bet did you lose that you would have to dump money into the ocean anyway?"

The strain in England's voice becomes audible. "It's none of your business. It was a bet I made a long time ago and a gentleman always keeps his word. That's all you need to know."

Sometimes England can be so pretentious with all his 'code of honor' crap. "Well how come I can't go? It won't take you that long right? All you're doing is wasting money that could be buying me food."

"I said you can't come!" England snaps viciously.

The force of it takes America off guard. He sounds really angry. What the hell is his problem anyway? America pouts and walks to one of the chairs. "Fine."

England sighs softly. "I'm sorry for losing my temper but it is very personal, even if it sounds ridiculous to you."

America just shrugs, acting as if he couldn't care less. "Whatever. My coasts are better anyway. I'll just go to California and not waste money by throwing it in the ocean."

"I said I was sorry!" A tense moment passes and both of them blow listlessly at their drinks. England speaks again with timid neutrality. "So how have you been doing?"

America stares into his coffee. "I've been better. I've been worse. You?"

"Fine. Thank you."

Another painful silence. America sips his coffee. Why does England bother putting them both through this? They get along alright these days but... it's just so awkward. It always feels like there's a wall between them. Thin and invisible, but there nonetheless. He doesn't know what England hopes to gain by these visits.

England struggles to find something to say to America. Anything that will wipe that questioning, bored look off his face. It's hard to face him when he looks so absolutely reluctant to be there. It's painful too. "...America, I wonder if you've heard about-"

The phone suddenly rings shrilly, bringing attention to itself. "Excuse me, I will be right back."

England gets up, silently cursing whoever is on the other line. America is a bit relieved for the distraction. Saves him from some small talk.

America closes his eyes, catching snippets of England's voice from the other room. "Hello?...to you too...Right this moment? Is it- ....not that, I just-...Fine, I understand. I'll call- Yes that's right...Yes. Goodbye."

England enters again, expression sour. "It seems I have to make a very important phone call. I'll be using the private line in my office. I can't say how long it will take. I am terribly sorry about this but please wait for me to finish. I promise I'll make it as short as possible."

America shrugs. "No problemo. I'll just hang out until you're done. When duty calls we must answer, eh?"

"I suppose. Don't make a mess."

America roles his eyes. "Yes mother."

England frowns, pauses as if he wants to say something, then shakes his head and leaves the room. America, with his fantastically short attention span, is soon bored.

After looking around at all there is to see in the room he decides exploring is much more interesting than staying in a single spot. And technically he's still waiting... he's just wandering about while he does so.

Unfortunately it's not particularly thrilling to explore a place one knows quite well. America's been there so often that all of it is pretty old hat. Still, walking around keeps him from getting too antsy. He's already wishing he could go home and do something more exciting. England is just so... boring.

America walks by a doorway, glancing at it before looking away, then pauses. He stands in front of the door. England had told him he wasn't allowed to touch it. It is one of those things that is so ingrained in him he had stopped seeing it. Well, why shouldn't he look inside? Surely England can't be hiding anything too mysterious. It's probably something sort of kinky or something. It might be worth a good laugh anyway.

He tries the door handle. Locked. Looking around quickly to make sure the coast is clear, he turns the handle and shoves his shoulder against it, easily breaking it open. And it had only been loud for a split second. He pushes the door open. A long, narrow staircase tapers off into the dark.

"Hm..." He pulls out his cellphone and flips it open, using its faint glow to light his descent.

The temperature seems to drop as he goes lower. It's kind of exciting. He gets a shiver of anticipation. 'This better not be a storage basement or something.'

He eventually comes to a second door made of heavy wood with an old fashioned knob. This one is unlocked. He pushes it open, clicking a button on the side of his phone to make it light up again as he steps into the new room.

It's rather large, more so than he would have suspected. At first he feels a wave of disappointment. It seems like it might be a storage place after all, weird as it might be. But no, something is off. First of all he finally notices that there is a sort of eerie glow that faintly illuminates the room. He still needs his phone to really examine anything but he's not in total darkness. Yet he can't seem to pinpoint where the light is coming from. And as he starts looking at things more closely he notices everything on the shelves are sort of strange: lots of candles, a couple of daggers, chains, jars of mysterious contents, really ancient leather-bound books, and those were just the things on the more normal side.

"What is this, all of England's occult stuff? Awesome..." He vaguely remembers someone—France maybe—mentioning the fact that England is into magic and the occult but he has never actually seen evidence of it before.

America trips over something, the dusty silence broken as it clatters across the floor loudly. America hisses and grabs onto a shelf to keep himself from falling over. He holds his breath as the room resettles from the unwanted burst of sound. He slowly begins to straighten up and his fingers brush against something.

America brings his cellphone to it so he can look at the object. It's an antique pocket watch. America lifts it by the chain and squints at it in the faint light. There's a crest or something carved into the metal. He jerks the chain and catches the watch in his hand, running a thumb over the engraving.

That's when he notices something odd. The pocket watch feels warm in his palm and it's almost like it's faintly pulsating. A shiver runs down his spine. 'No way, I must be imagining it.'

He swallows hard and gropes with it a moment until it clicks open. The inside shimmers slightly in the light, perhaps mother-of-pearl, and both delicate slightly curved hands point at the twelve. At least he thinks they do. It's so difficult to see.

At the thought there is suddenly a soft glow that is utterly apart from his cellphone. America stares in amazement as the face of the watch begins to shine blue. He squints as it becomes brighter. And now the pulse is becoming more distinct, stronger. It's like it's in his head. Pounding, pounding... No, not pounding... It's not a pulse...It's _ticking_. The clock is ticking like a heartbeat yet the hands remain frozen_. _America wants to drop it but his body refuses to obey him.

It continues to grow stronger, engulfing his body in a soft, caressing light. This isn't happening, there's no way this is happening. He must be hallucinating or dreaming or something-

The sea. America is suddenly immersed by the sea. He can smell it, feel it lapping gently against his skin, taste its saltiness, hear waves crashing as it eternally ebbs and flows.

What is happening?

The light becomes unbearably bright and America closes his eyes. And the moment he does the world around him falls away. Startled, America hastily opens his eyes and finds himself falling in the blue light. No, now it is more like being surrounded by the ocean, except warmer and he can breathe. And still he is falling and still he has no idea what is happening.

Panic stricken, he calls out for help. "England! Arthur!"

But his voice is lost in the roaring water and the ticking that is now so loud it reverberates through his entire body.

America shuts his eyes tightly and waits for it to end.

~.

America opens his eyes slowly. Blue. He sees blue. But it's not light or water or anything like that. It's the sky. He frowns and sits up gingerly. He immediately throws a hand over his mouth and nose. Oh dear god what is that _smell_? He gags a few times, using all of his willpower to prevent himself from vomiting. He presses his sleeve against his face and uses it to filter the air. That is without a doubt the most unpleasant thing he could have ever woken up to. Where is he?

For the first time America really looks around himself. He's in an alleyway or something. He gets up, dusting himself off with one hand and creeping closer towards the entrance, glancing down at the dirty cobblestone. His eyes widen as he peeks out at the bustling street. For a moment all he can do is gape stupidly, his brain having a hard time coping with what he's seeing. It's like he has walked onto the set of a _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movie or something.

America sure as hell isn't in Kansas anymore. He is_, _however_,_ definitely in England. Now the real question: _When _in England is he?

* * *

**AN: **Sorry it's so short and that the ending is lame. I promise the next chapter will be better -laughs- And it smelled so strongly because... quite frankly EVERYTHING reeked back then. It was all quite filthy. **  
**


	2. Chapter 2

Hello~ Are you all well? I hope so!

Oh my, let's see... I would just like to mention a few things. First of all, this is a Pengland story but it's not the one you always see in fanart, this is Elizabethan Era Pengland which is a little different. While he is not the one from the golden age of pirates (sometime in the 1700s) he is when they were fighting against the Spanish and what not. He is his Majesty's pirate~ I don't know if it matters, I just thought I'd emphasize that.

Once again, I only know a few things about that time period. I am doing research but I can't get everything. I acknowledge in the story they had a certain way of talking back then but in no way will I attempt it. Please do not mention the dialogue if you see something that is really off because you have no idea, me with my OCD personality, how painful it is to write this story knowing the details are probably wrong in many places. You'll just give me a panic attack.

I am trying my best with the details and letting some of the small ones go so please, I beg you, be kind to me. (though like I said before, if you see something important that's off do mention it) That is all.

* * *

America slinks back into the alley, slumping against the wall. Okay, now is not the time to lose his head. Had to keep it cool. After closing his eyes and thinking for a moment he comes up with a conclusion. One of two things is occurring here:

1. He had actually slipped and hit his head down in that basement room and is now comatose on the floor, having some sort of crazy ass dream.

2. That pocket watch has magical properties or something and has sent him back in time.

The second option sounds much more interesting than the first. He decides to go with that as the explanation until proven otherwise. Now it's like he's in some sort of awesome adventure movie! Right, so he has to keep his wits about him.

Okay, rules:

First of all, if he is in the past then he has to hide the fact he's from the future. He absolutely cannot let information slip about things that haven't happened yet. He doesn't want to cause the butterfly effect or whatever the fuck it is called where doing one little thing will make bloodsucking dinosaurs rule the Earth.

Secondly, he can't let anyone know who he is. Especially when he isn't sure what the time period is yet. So, he has to get some information.

Thirdly, he has to try not to talk like he's from the future. Or act like it.

Damn it, this is going to be hard. At the same time he feels that tingle of anticipation from earlier. That feeling of adventure. Speaking of which, does he still have the watch? He pats himself down, pulling something bulky from his pocket. It's the watch! Somehow he feels relieved to have it. Maybe if it got him here it can get him back.

Looking at it in the sun he can't help but be impressed. It fits the role of crazy magical item that might take one back in the past perfectly. It's still bright silver despite its somewhat aged appearance, the engravings in the top now visible. An intricate, blank crest with olive branches surrounding it rests at the bottom. Languid waves roll all the way along the border except at the very top where a small star rests above everything.

He considers it. Maybe he should try opening it? It doesn't have that weird pulsating feeling from before but it still might take him back to his own time. Or it will send him even further in the past. Frowning, he weighs his options. He can play it safe... but that's boring. He clicks the watch open again, holding his breath.

It harmlessly opens. America feels a little disappointed. Oh well, there has to be a trick to it... The inside is a lot more impressive in the light of day too. The backing is definitely mother-of-pearl and shines softly as he moves it back and forth. There are only four roman numerals on the face: twelve, three, six, and nine. Small diamonds stand in place for the rest. The black hands have a slight curve to them.

He looks at it thoughtfully. He could have sworn both hands were at the twelve but now the long hand seems just a bit past that. Must not have been enough light in the basement to see it properly.

Upon close inspection the watch is pretty enough... but that isn't really helpful. America holds it to his ear listening for a faint tick. Nothing. He shakes it and listens again with the same result. Sighing, he snaps it closed and stuffs it back in his pocket.

Well this sucks. Oh well, onto the next step! If he can't immediately go back he has to find out what time period he's in. Might as well have fun with it. Imagining himself the dashing protagonist in a movie, he creeps back to the entrance of the alleyway. Waiting for the opportune moment, he grabs a man walking by, clamping a hand over his mouth and dragging him back into the shadows.

The man struggles but America has a pretty good hold on him. "Look, I have a question for you. Answer and I'll let you go safe and sound."

He releases the man who turns and looks at him, awe-struck. He starts talking about his appearance or something and with a groan America realizes he's speaking that flowery English used in those plays England likes so much. Fuck. He _hates _that kind of English. Well he remembers how to speak it a little bit from when he was little.

"So, um, what is the year good sir?"

It seems to take the man aback, hearing him talking in a bastardized form of the current English. At least he understands. Probably. "...Fifteen hundred and ninety five."

Damn, that is before he was even a colony. Where was his past self? Dreaming as little more than a child alone in the woods of the New World, as they had called it. Still innocent, still unclaimed. Living alone and sharing the space with the Natives. He feels a wave of nostalgia. Suddenly he comes back to himself and realizes the man is saying something again.

"-unhand me at once you knave!"

America gives him his most winning smile. "I am really sorry about this, but I need your clothes."

The man's eyes widen in horror and he opens his mouth to cry out. He doesn't even get a peep out before America swiftly knocks him out cold. A guy has to do what a guy has to do. He makes quick work of stripping the man down before pulling off most of his own clothes. With great difficulty he attempts to dress himself in this new attire. Why are there so many pieces? Not to mention he feels like a total idiot. If it wasn't for the fact he's so scared of fucking up history there is no way he would even attempt to wear such lame stuff. And ew, is that a codpiece? No way he's taking that. He's going to criticize England about his fashion sense next time he sees him.

Not to mention this guy's clothes reek and now he smells bad and dear lord it's all he can do not to just pass out right there. All he can do is remind himself that there had been a time when he had no problem being so dirty himself. He doesn't even want to think about what else might be lurking in the clothes. He gives an involuntary shiver as he unpacks a bag the man had been carrying and shoves his regular clothes inside. No way he's leaving them behind.

Putting the man's hat jauntily on his head he salutes the unconscious nearly nude figure. "Thanks a lot. Hope I didn't just cause Hitler to win World War II by stealing this stuff from you!"

Just as he is about to leave the alleyway he pauses. Did they have glasses during this time period? He doesn't know. Best to be safe than sorry. He takes Texas off and carefully stores them away. Had to be extra careful with those.

Confident that he will at least pass, even if he gets an odd glance for something or other, America merges into the hustle and bustle (and smell) of the crowded street. For a while he walks around, taking everything in. Now that his sense of smell has been murdered it isn't bothering him so much. It's kind of exciting, seeing this period of time. He might be old but he isn't so old he had ever seen any of this.

All the while he digs in his memories and England's many boring lectures to find context for what time period he is in. He snaps as it comes to him, startling a woman nearby. Of course, Shakespeare! Elizabethan Era! ...Right? Yeah that sounds right. He doesn't exactly know how far into it he is or anything but he's pretty sure Shakespeare was alive during 1595. One more mystery down!

Now the ultimate question other than how to get home...What should he do now?

This makes him pause. Just because he knows the year doesn't mean he knows anything about it or where he should go or who he should talk to. Usually in a movie this would be about the time a plot device would come around and lead him to the next step.

...

Yeah okay this isn't actually a movie. He sighs and continues to wander. After a while he is starting to feel hungry, tired, and quite frankly bored. Really, the charm wears off quickly when one is blindly walking around like a hopeless idiot.

"Stupid England and his stupid magical items," he mutters.

Ah! That's it! England, why hadn't he thought of it before? Maybe he should try to track down England, pretend to be a wandering soul with a question about a magical item. England helps him (hopefully) get back to his own time period none the wiser. Awesome plan!

Of course he has no point of reference but he's sure to find him eventually... Then again, maybe he can ask? The inspiration strikes him when he spots what he hopes to God is a tavern or pub or whatever they were called in the day. People always know things in 'Ye Olde Pub' so someone is sure to be able to tell him where he can find England. And maybe he can beg a little food or something. Damn he's hungry.

Pushing through the crowd, America ducks into the dim building. A few people look up at his arrival but are immediately disinterested. Most don't even bother, nursing drinks or keeping up lively conversations. He looks around for a moment then takes a place at an empty table behind a rowdy group.

A woman makes her way over, smiling prettily at America. "How may I serve you?"

Bar wench? He doesn't quite dare call her that in case it's the wrong term. Besides, maybe barmaid would be the politically correct term? He puts on his sweetest smile and he can just see her heart melt. Booyah he still has it even in 1595. "I am waiting for a friend. Alas I have no money on me and I need him to pay my expenses. Thank you for asking."

She colors as he smiles again. "W-well I am sure I can get you a drink. Unless your friend would object to you starting before he arrives?"

America gives her a grateful look. "I doubt he would, if you can put that trust in me."

She giggles flirtatiously. "Of course sir."

As she disappears to the back of the pub America wonders if he should feel like a terrible person. He decides he'll just make England reimburse this place later. A while later she brings him a mug, pausing to speak flirtatiously with him. It tastes interesting but he will certainly not complain. Anything that quenches his thirst is good enough. He lightly flirts back until she is called away. Nice girl.

He slowly sips the ale, looking at the door from time to time mimicking someone waiting for a friend. All the while he keeps his ears open for anything. Mostly the conversations are about things he has no background on. Some debate about an issue having to do with the Lutherans and the Catholics, discussions of people that sound important that he's never heard of, everyday conversations about how to put enough food on the table and keep businesses going. Nothing useful to him. Suddenly the group behind him says something that makes him freeze, back straightening as he attempts to push out all other conversations.

"Captain Kirkland led the Queen's armada brilliantly in that last assault on those Spanish bastards. Got a decent amount of plunder from it too." They laugh.

America turns, voice cutting through their rowdy conversation. "Do you mean Arthur Kirkland?"

A silence settles over the group as they turn to look at him suspiciously. One of them finally speaks, eyes narrowed. "And who are you that you go around throwing the Captain's name so familiarly?"

"Er... Just a friend. I'm actually looking for him, you think you could tell me where he is? I have something important I need to discuss with him."

They look at one another and quickly convene. America catches a few whispers here and there.

"-talks weird-"

"Do you think he is one of-"

"-does not sound like-"

"-take care of this ourselves or-"

"-left to him I think."

They finally turn back to him, one of them standing. "I will take you to him."

Great! He was making awesome progress! America grabs his bundle as he stands. "Thanks! Hey, just give me a moment will you?"

He beelines to the barmaid and pulls her close, speaking softly to her. "I am afraid I must depart milady, but these lovely gentlemen are so kind as to pay for my drink. Add it to their tab."

She smiles dreamily at him and he winks, sending her into a fit of giggles. "Please do come again sir."

"If I get the chance I intend to." Damn he is charming.

She waves as he heads towards the waiting man. Now he doesn't have to worry about her or the pub getting screwed out of some money. Conscious clean, he follows the man once more through the crowded streets.

America tries to make some conversation but the man only grunts or keeps his silence, looking at him with utmost suspicion. Eventually he gives up and walks along in silence, wondering what their problem is. He just said he's England's friend. What, does he not have friends or something?

Captain Kirkland though, that's not something he's used to hearing. Then again he did sail a lot back in the day, even when America was his colony. It will be kind of interesting to see England before he came into his life. But really, how different can he be?

The man gestures for him to go into what seems to be another pub. As they enter the atmosphere seems quite a bit different though. Things don't seem as casual. Not tense necessarily, just... it seems like the kind of place you go if you're supposed to be there.

The man brings him in and sits him down. "You wait here and do not move."

America watches his progress as he walks through the room, briefly stopping to talk to some more men. They give him decidedly unfriendly looks. Seriously, what the hell did he do? A moment later he disappears into a back room, two of the men he had conversed with walking towards America. He feels himself tense then forces himself to relax. Look casual, be ready to kick ass.

They sit on either side of him. "We hear you have spoken very flippantly about Captain Kirkland. You claim you are a friend but I have never seen your face."

America smiles lightly, looking down at the table. "You think you know all his friends? Who are you to be so presumptuous?"

He snarls and the other man leans in closer. "Personally I think William is right. You are one of that cur's men, are you not? If you have some message for Captain Kirkland then why not give it outright? Why the secrecy?"

At this point America has no idea what they are talking about. "Whose men? I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar! Who else would have the nerve to search for Captain Kirkland in such an arrogant manner except one sent by that vile fiend?"

America frowns. "Look, you have me mistaken for someone else. Back off already, it's none of your business."

The man grabs his collar. "Watch your tongue!"

"No, you watch yours! I don't advise you start a fight unless you're prepared to lose!"

The next thing he knows things have escalated out of control. The guy goes to throw a punch and he yanks his head out of the way, resulting in the other guy getting hit instead. There is a moment of confusion which America uses to slip out from between them and onto his feet. These guys have no idea how hardcore he can beat the living daylight out of them but he has to remember restraint.

The two men have recovered and are on their feet, circling him. By now they have caught the attention of some of the others, who make their way closer. They can all bring it on as far as America's concerned. This really is like a movie, so freaking awesome!

The guy who had thrown a punch before comes at him and he easily throws him into one of his approaching opponents. The other comes at him, hoping to catch him off guard. With a smirk America rams his elbow into the man's stomach, sending him reeling back. He makes a 'come on' gesture at the rest. "Give me your best shot."

For a moment they are still, perhaps put off by his intense self-confidence. It isn't long before they seem to shake it off. America makes short work of them. They're barely a workout let alone a challenge. He laughs as he sends another one sprawling. "Is that all you've got?"

Something hits the back of his knees and he's down like a brick. He whirls quickly to counterattack whoever had done that and freezes. A flintlock pistol is pointed right in his face.

"How irritating."

"Huh?" The voice is eerily familiar and he focuses his eyes past the flintlock and up to the holder.

It's England wearing an expression that is a mixture of apathy and displeasure.

"If that sniveling coward France sent you to tell me he is not going to make our appointment I will kill you here and now."

..._Huh_?

Is this seriously England?

"I am waiting boy." England presses the barrel against his forehead, looking down at him with cold eyes.

What the hell is going on?

* * *

**AN: **Glasses did actually exist back then but they wouldn't have looked anything like Texas. Clothing was a super big deal back then actually... Like you have no idea -laughs- It's because class mattered so much back then.

Oh well, hurray Pengland! And I love how ridiculous America is, the fool~


	3. Chapter 3

Surprise~ Update! But... this chapter is short... I am so sorry but it is. -laughs- Ah... Still, I am pleased I got some time to update much sooner than I thought!

* * *

America continues to look up at England in dumb wonder. He can't seem to compute that this man pointing a gun at his head is Arthur. It's not even so much just that he's pointing the pistol as the fact that he's doing it with such a cold expression.

A frown flickers on England's face. "Are you stupid boy? I expect a prompt answer!"

America gives him a blank look. "...What are you talking about?"

England unflinchingly smacks him across the face with the flintlock. America yelps and touches his cheek, left in a state of shock by the unexpected attack. "Were you sent by France or not?"

"...No... No! Why do you think I was sent by France? And you didn't have to hit me! That hurt, damn it!" America glares up at him.

England stares at him for a long moment, calculating, considering. "Say 'parlez-vous français' for me."

While England hadn't pulled that off flawlessly, America's French is far worse. Especially because he has made a point of not learning it to spite France. "Er...'par-lay-voo francey'?"

Another pause, those hard green eyes boring into him, then the flintlock is no longer pointed at his face. America lets out a sigh of relief. "I see. It seems there has been a mix up of some sort. I cannot tell you how much that displeases me. I wish to speak with you a while and determine how much I am obliged to apologize and the severity of my punishment for an unjustified assumption."

Boy that is a fancy way to say 'oops, fucked up!' Oh well, somehow America gets the feeling he is very lucky to no longer be the one on England's bad side. "Er... sure."

He stands, rubbing his cheek. There is no doubt in his mind that there is already the beginnings of a bruise there. With the flick of a finger England indicates for America to follow him to a back room. He runs back long enough to grab his stuff then follows, throwing a smug look at the men whose asses he had thoroughly kicked. They glower silently in return. Whatever, they are just jealous he is so amazing.

The back room is big enough for maybe five people at any given moment. The walls are bare except for a few maps hung up. They are cruder than he's used to seeing. A table sits in the middle, a couple of chairs pulled up to it. A plate of food sits in front of one as well as a tobacco pipe.

"Close the door would you?" America is pulled out of his thoughts and presses the door shut behind him.

England scrutinizes him and it's really rather kind of eerie. It makes him feel vulnerable. As he turns back around, England begins to circle him slowly. "What is your name?"

America stiffens uneasily. "Er, Alfred."

"Oh? Alfred what?"

Probably best not to give a last name. Too risky. "Just Alfred."

England pauses in front of him and meets his eyes. "And where did you get those clothes from 'just Alfred'?"

The question takes America off guard. "These clothes...? Wh-what makes you think they aren't mine?"

England raises an eyebrow. "You do not have the right attitude for someone who would dress like that. They don't suite you, I suppose. I have no doubt there is someone out there missing some clothes."

America winces. How can he tell? Damn... "Er..."

England abruptly closes the distance between them. He grabs America's chin and tilts his head a bit, carefully examining his face. He uses his thumb to lift America's lip. America jerks back. "Wh-what-?"

Without warning England presses his face to America's neck. America pulls away more insistently and England lets him go. "Where are you from just Alfred?"

America gives him a reproachful look. That had been really weird. "Oh you know... around."

"Mmm...You are certainly not from here. But I cannot put my finger on where you could be from... Your teeth are oddly healthy, judging from how you smell you actually bathe regularly, your skin is very good. No pock marks or scarring so you've never had any serious illnesses. You speak English well enough but you have a very strange accent I have never heard. You are certainly not French, you do not sound Germanic... or like you could be from the Nordic countries. Unless you were raised with English after speaking another language as a child and it has somehow created this odd accent?"

America is getting very nervous now. England sure can tell a lot without even trying. He swallows hard. "D-does it matter where I'm from?"

England smirks at him then shrugs. "I suppose not. I am merely curious as to where such an attractive specimen came from."

Attractive specimen? There must be more of a barrier in language than he thinks because there is no way England just called him that in the way it sounds.

England sits at the table and picks up the pipe. It is made of pale wood, smooth with a carefully carved design around the bowl. He takes a slow drag then releases the smoke from the side of his mouth. "Are you hungry just Alfred?"

Well, America can always go for food. "Maybe a little bit."

England pushes the plate across the table. It's some kind of meat. America sits down and examines it carefully, deciding if he wants to eat it or not. He finally gives it a try. Upon deeming it edible and not too bad he enthusiastically begins to eat. "Tell me just Alfred, why are you looking for me?"

America glances up at the vibrant eyes that watch him through a haze of smoke. "...I was hoping you could look at something for me. Tell me if there's... something special about it."

This seems to intrigue England and a spark of interest appears in his expression for the first time. "Something special?"

America nods. He pulls out the watch and places it in the center of the table. "Be careful with it."

He can't quite bring himself to say 'Or you might be sucked into the past.'

England reaches over the table and lifts it, studying it. "What is it?"

"A pocket watch." As if that isn't obvious.

England glances over at him. "A pocket watch? I admit I have never seen something like it. Where did it originate? Germany? Or perhaps Switzerland?"

Fuck, they didn't have pocket watches yet? Well how was he supposed to know that? Damn it! "Y-yes..."

England raises an eyebrow and sits back, letting it twirl slowly on its chain. He finally notices the clasp on the side and opens it. He runs a thumb over the face. "This is a beautiful piece of work. Extraordinary... As I said, I have never seen such a thing. I would think it goes without saying it is something special."

The smile he gives America is condescending and he obviously thinks him a simpleton or a fool at the very least. America frowns. "That's not what I meant specifically. I want to know if... if it..."

He sighs. This seems sort of pointless. Why won't the damn thing reveal its magical self already so that he doesn't have to say something stupid like 'Hur dur is it made of magic?'

"Tell me just Alfred, how did you come to think I could tell you anything about this that someone else couldn't, such as a tinkerer or some such thing?"

America scrambles for a reason. Why would he? "Er, well you are the representation of the... of the British Empire so I figured you would know just about anything."

England, amused more than flattered by the comment, snaps the watch closed. "Are you interested in selling?"

America looks up at him in alarm. "N-no! No, I need it!"

At least the thinks he probably needs it... Well, it's best not to get rid of it anyway.

England lets it dangle a while longer, taking another puff on his pipe. America watches him apprehensively, getting the distinct feeling he's considering keeping it anyway. God, he is such a bastard in the past! Who would have known?

England finally places it back in the center of the table. "Pity. Do let me know if you change your mind. It is a peculiar trinket."

America snatches it up quickly and tucks it safely away. England leans his chin on his hand, watching him lazily. "Sorry I could not be of more assistance. And I do apologize for my men earlier. They are fools. You handled yourself quite impressively against them, I must admit."

America feels a flash of pride popping up through the muddled confusion. "Oh it was nothing, they're not so tough!"

He laughs loudly then realizes maybe that might have sounded insulting. Not that it isn't true but he doesn't need a flintlock pointed at him again. Blowing another cloud of smoke, England stands and overturns the pipe on the now empty plate in front of America. He taps it then places it on the table. "I have a social meeting of sorts I must suffer with a...colleague, of mine."

There is a complete sneer of contempt in the word colleague. America tilts his head. "France?"

England nods once. "Unfortunately, yes. Where are you off to now just Alfred?"

He hadn't thought about that. Really, if England can't help him he is flat out of ideas. The thought makes him a bit miserable. He broods over the question. "I have no idea. Somewhere."

England rests a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I will be honest. You have captured my interest just Alfred. If you have nowhere in particular to go you should come with me. It will make my time with that fool more tolerable. I will pay for your food and drink as well should you choose to accompany me."

Well... it is kind of risky socializing with him and all... He really shouldn't. In fact the less time he spends with past England the better. But what else is he going to do, sit around on his ass waiting for the stupid watch to do something again? Might as well get something out of his time here. "Alright then."

England smiles. "Very well. Come along then."

He begins to walk like a man who takes for granted he will be followed without question. America scrambles to his feet, snatching up his bag and hurrying after him. England stops to exchange some quiet words with one of his men. Nothing pleasant from how pale he becomes. America challenges them to do or say anything to him with his eyes. None of them try. Well, not that they probably would with England there being so intimidating.

He really doesn't know what to think about this England. He's nothing like the one America is used to. He's so... confident, cool, arrogant. It's kind of impressive actually. He has the air of a man who has the world on a string. America can respect that. It's generally how he acts.

They emerge onto the street again. England doesn't seem in any particular hurry to get where they're going. "So...er...Captain Kirkland? Is that what I call you?"

England considers him. "Did you not ask for me as Arthur? I do not see the point going backwards in formalities. You might as well call me that."

America grins. Good. He would feel stupid calling him 'Captain Kirkland' anyway. "Sounds fine to me. You can call me Alfred then. The 'just' isn't necessary."

England smirks at him. "I see. A pleasure to make your acquaintance Alfred."

"And you Arthur." After a few minutes of silence America feels it necessary to make conversation. "So tell me... Why exactly are you meeting with France? You sound less than enthused and yet you seemed determined to kill me if he was backing out of it."

England throws an arm around America's shoulder and pulls him closer. "Well you know what they say. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, plunder the Spanish, and kill the Scots."

He cackles and smacks America's shoulder sharply, releasing him. America winces and laughs awkwardly. "Er...heh y-yeah."

What an asshole! It's mystifying. No wonder Scotland still bears a grudge against him. "So pretty much just a meeting to make sure he's in check?"

England nods after a moment. "Something like that. I like to know what that bastard is up to. Ignorance has never saved a man's life after all and if I ever hope to defeat him once and for all I should know where I stand at any given moment."

So there is to be very little social visit in this so much as measuring the other up. He wonders if France feels the same way about the whole thing. It will be interesting to see what France is like during this period. "You intend to conquer France?"

A dark, rather menacing look of amusement comes over England's face. "I intend to conquer the world, Alfred. In time. All in good time."

America stares straight ahead, keeping tight control over himself. It won't do to laugh. Of course he knows perfectly well England doesn't succeed. Though now that he thinks about it he guesses England had controlled about a third of the world for a while, himself included in that mix. And there is something about England's conviction here in this time that sends a shiver down his spine. He's glad that England softened by the time he met with him. Really, what a radical difference from the man he took pity on as a child. This one is kind of intimidating.

Not that he's afraid of him or anything. Nope, not him! That would be totally lame.

They stop in front of what looks like yet another pub. England scowls up at it. "So help me if he isn't here I'll..."

He mutters something under his breath and enters. America goes in with a shrug. England is looking around. He suddenly makes a sound of displeasure. "Of course."

America follows his gaze and spots France at a table towards the back, tucked away in a corner. He might be more inconspicuous if he didn't have two women giggling loudly with him, one sitting on his lap as he gropes her breast shamelessly.

Shaking his head with a look of pure disgust on his face, England starts towards them. "Come along. I warn you, that right there is as charming as he gets at any given moment."

Well, France seems to be a total horndog. It comforts America a bit. Some things never change he supposes.

* * *

**AN: **Oh France....You pervert.

During this time a tobacco pipe would have been more likely than a cigar.

This was still around the time England was hardcore fighting Scotland and... from my understanding kind of trying to wipe it out... (thus the joke in bad taste, which I apologize for immensely)

There were watches back then, mostly made in Switzerland and Germany, but they were usually worn around the neck. Pocket watches didn't start coming into use until ... um, mid/later 1700s I think?


	4. Chapter 4

Hi~

So let's see... someone asked about why America wouldn't want to say something about the watch being magic. While he believes in aliens and ghosts, I don't really think of America as believing in magic. So even having just experienced it, I think he would have a hard time admitting it out loud.

Someone also asked about how America as an average joe might recognize England as the country representative... I actually don't know how that works. Most people have it so they aren't recognized for what they are but in the show people seem to know who they are -laughs- So I really don't know where that line falls... Let that detail slide, you'll be happier for it hahaha~

Oh yeah, and I think I'll do my same deal with You and I will Fall in Love. Every 100th reviewer gets a one shot~ (Currently not taking America and England as a pairing)

* * *

England glares with complete revulsion and disdain at the Frenchman who has gone from groping to tickling the chin of the woman on his lap. The other buxom girl presses close to him as he whispers in her ear.

Stopping at the edge of the table, England crosses his arms and looks down at France. "I would prefer if you would refrain from bringing your harlots to these meetings."

Turning at the sound of the voice, France grins up at England. There is no warmth in his smile. His gaze slips past him and light on America curiously. "Ah, bonsoir Angleterre... I could say the very same to you."

America raises his eyebrows and looks behind him. Who is he talking ab- "Wait, do you mean me?"

France smirks condescendingly at him. "Oui."

The girls giggle furiously and America prickles angrily. "I am not a harlot!"

England shakes his head in irritation. "Do be quiet and sit down. Nice to see you are making a total fool of yourself in public as always France."

Sulking to himself, America takes a seat. He is so not a harlot! It doesn't matter how reassuring France is, he's a jerk.

France's eyes meet with England's briefly then return to linger on America. "And it is always a complete pleasure to see you act like the self-important prick you are. Who is this if not your amant?"

England slips into his own seat, looking ready to be completely dismissive of anything France has to say no matter what it might be. "A new sailor I recently picked up. Other than that he is none of your business and you may refrain from so much as looking at him."

So he's lying? America wonders why. Then again it is the easiest thing to say to cut off France's questions. Though it doesn't prevent his next one. "Oh and pray tell where did you pick him up? I want one too."

England sneers at him, ignoring his inquiry. "Send your whores away."

France regards him with a smirk. "Yours may stay if he so wishes."

America stands, slamming his hands on the table. The girls shriek. What the fuck, why is everyone such an asshole in this time period? "Look here mon-si-yer, there ain't no man rich enough in this world to make me his whore, got it?"

For a moment all eyes are locked on him and there is complete silence. France suddenly begins to chuckle. "Oh my, so that's how it is. Your French pronunciation is atrocious mon petit."

"His English is not much better," England states coolly.

America pouts at him. Shouldn't he be on his side? He's not his whore, he had even said he was a sailor or something. It is just like England to lecture him on his grammar or something. "So sorry, there _isn't _any man rich enough in this world to make me his whore."

France chuckles again. He gives his women a squeeze, speaking to them in a smooth, seductive whisper. They are all giggles once more, each giving him a kiss on the cheek before moving to a table further towards the front of the pub. "There, happy my dear Angleterre?"

"I will be happy once this is over with." England gestures at a barmaid to come over. America sits back, already unhappy to be there. Too bad he can't sit with France's lady friends. He doesn't find them offensive in the least.

As England talks to the barmaid France tsks softly. "Angleterre is so violent. I am guessing he gave you that nasty bruise on your cheek? It is a sin to mar such beauty."

France reaches over to brush his fingers along his cheek. America scowls and starts to pull back when a hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. France winces as England both crushes and twists it. "Do not touch him."

They lock glares for a long moment and America can all but feel the hostility coming off them. It's a little uncomfortable actually. He's used to the two of them fighting and not getting along. That's part of their relationship. But this is... well, it's a vehement dislike for one another he's never seen before.

After a long pause England releases him. France immediately withdraws his hand and begins to rub his wrist. "You English are so very uncouth."

"And the French are nothing but drunkards and fools."

An icy silence hangs in the air and America fidgets. A pint slides in front of him, another placed before England. He picks it up and immediately takes a drink. England takes his own and turns to France critically, eying the goblet of wine in front of him. "I see you have provided for yourself."

France smiles smugly and lifts it, swirling it slowly. "But of course. Why degrade my sensitive palate to whatever swill you may provide? Best to bring what I know is good."

"Hmph. Snob." England gulps down a mouthful of his ale.

The icy mood definitely lingers but the atmosphere feels a bit less hostile. The two fall into a discussion of current events, politics, and general bragging about how great they are. It really is impressive how many ways they find to insult one another, anywhere from using the most delicate subtlety to outright harshness.

America tries to follow but he really knows very little about this time period. He acknowledges that it might prove useful later but it's soooo boring. Even the insults go over his head half the time. That table with those saucy women France brought looks more and more tempting by the minute.

At least he's getting an unlimited round of drinks. He finishes one and another appears just like that. He doesn't even bother paying attention to how many he has. The general rule is once England is smashed and a sobbing mess he should stop and will have nothing worse than a good buzz going.

America tunes into the conversation again. Something about that conflict with the Catholics and the Protestants. He remembers people talking about it in the other pub earlier. He leans his chin on his fist and starts to frown. Finally he can't help but interrupt. "Wait... why is this even a big deal? I mean... who cares what religion they are?"

France and England stop and look at one another. France grins. "He doesn't speak French but can he read it? Have you read the arguments of my great writers? It is so trite. You see Angleterre? You obsess yourself with this issue."

England glowers at France. "I do not obsess myself, it is the people that are interested. The Queen has been gracious in her laws. As for you boy, I might keep that opinion to yourself unless you want to be ostracized."

They seem on the verge of ignoring him again and he will have none of that. "But it's so... it's stupid! Who cares? Let them do what they want."

England chuckles and gives him a look that suggests he thinks he's a complete idiot. "Well, what a refreshingly naïve opinion. Religion is the pillar of conflict. Power and religion are entwined. It's important to know what religion is at the top. It is the one with the power."

America sniffs. "I don't think it has to be that way."

"Religion does not matter in politics where you come from?" England raises an eyebrow, carefully attentive to his response.

America is about to deny it then thinks about it. Well, technically when he was younger the Catholic and Protestant thing had been an issue. And even now someone had to be Christian or something similar to get the really high positions, like president. Not legally, but it matters to the people as England had said.

"I guess it does..." This annoys him and he turns his attention back to his drink. France gives another of his stupid laughs and America feels a flush of embarrassment and anger. France can go fuck himself. When he's in his proper time he's going to punch him right in his French face.

Once more deemed unfit to properly debate the issues and generally not knowing what he's talking about, America is cut out of the conversation. Why did England even bother inviting him? If he wasn't stuck here with nowhere to go he'd take off for sure.

The conversation switches to the New World and America once more tunes in. This time he knows the topic of discussion quite well.

France is whining. "That damned Spain is getting his hands all over the New World. At this rate he'll be claiming all of it."

England snorts. "Like that pathetic wretch can keep his hands on it. Besides, you've certainly been making yourself comfortable down there."

"Ah Angleterre, and you have not?"

They laugh lightly, looking like they might attack one another on the spot. France pours himself another glass of wine, his cheeks flushed red. "I wonder how long it will take to find the representatives. There must be more. Spain found one some time ago after all, in the southern regions."

"It is only a matter of time before someone locates more of them. And of course when they are discovered..." Both France and England get super creepy looks on their faces. America feels a bubble of panic. Oh no, he has to find a boat and go warn himself to stay far, far away from both of them. They are total creeps! He never should have shown England compassion!

"You can't do that to, to-!" He starts to stand and the world begins to tilt violently. The alcohol hits him like a brick and god damn he is drunk. The next thing he knows he is on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling in confusion. "Wha?"

France hits the table, bursting into laughter. "Quel dommage. A bit weak at holding his alcohol, non?"

America starts to sit up, his head fuzzy. He grabs the edge of the table and pulls himself up. "I'm not... not drunk! I can hold my alcohol just fine thanksh."

The slight slur in his words isn't exactly convincing. But how has this happened? England doesn't seem drunk in the least and he's been slamming them back just as long as him! And he's such a light weight. If America is this drunk England should be crying and being all pathetic and sentimental and... and has there always been two Frances?

England stands, tossing some coins onto the table. "It seems this social visit is concluded. Do enjoy the gonorrhea you will undoubtedly get from those tarts of yours."

France smirks slowly. "Shall I wish you the same?"

Giving France a tight smile, England puts an arm around America, hoisting him upright. America stumbles then leans heavily on England for support. America mockingly salutes France. "Viva la France!"

France blows him a kiss, chuckling as he sips his wine. A few patrons turn to give him a dirty look which of course he doesn't notice in the least.

"Wait, my bag..." America mumbles, glad he has remembered it. Must be that mention of Mexico that jogged his brain. England quickly scoops it up and shoves it at him. He fumbles and manages to hold onto it.

England turns quickly and America wishes he hadn't. The world is spinning so much already. France's lady friends or whores or whatever are already making their way back to the table and they pass each other. The girls smile flirtatiously at America. He gives them a smile in return but that's about all he can manage. Hell, he can barely stand. It's a fair assumption that he would be staggering all over the place if not for England's arm around his waist.

The cool air as they enter to the open street, bathed in the waning light, feels soothing on his flushed face. "Sorry about thish. Usually know my limit better, y'know? Oh god I'm dizzy...Where are we goin'?"

"My home. There is nowhere else for you to be is there?" England glances at him from the corner of his eye.

America laughs loudly. "Ah no way... Not a place in this world."

England's lips curl up into a smirk. "Very well, there should be fine then. It's not a problem correct?"

"Nah, nah! Whatever ish fine." After all, where else is he going to sleep this off, a gutter?

England's grip around America's waist tightens as they start down the street waveringly. America puts an arm around his shoulder for good measure and that helps steady him more. This is good, maybe America can walk himself closer to sobriety. The open air feels like it's already clearing his head some.

"You uh... sure can hold your liquor can't ya?"

"Of course, I can drink the best of them under the table. Well... Most. There are a few that can even out drink me but they are hardly worth mentioning." There's that snide, arrogant tone again.

America really doesn't get it. This is the man England once was. Powerful, offensive, contemptuous, confident, so many things England hardly seems anymore. And he can drink without turning into a mess of pathetic goo. And he's sort of... no, he's really awesome. Even if he is a total jerk. What happened?

Whenever America tries to overlap this England and his England it just doesn't work. And while there is still some time left before the two of them are going to meet for the first time, it's really not that far into the future. While the scary as hell face England made that day both he and France tried to win him over as a child can conceivably be attributed to this man, the crying and vulnerability sure can't be.

And why hadn't he ever known England was like this once upon a time? Sure France had thrown out a few stories from time to time and Ireland, Scotland, and Wales were all happy to tell him what an unbelievable dick he was, but this... This is beyond anything he has ever imagined.

And...actually America is kind of fascinated by him, this England.

Damn... a drunken guy shouldn't have to think about all this stuff, it's too hard.

While England's place can't have actually been too far away from where they were it feels like it. Even subtracting the break they took so he could take a piss against some building or other it seems to take forever to arrive. And boy has America never been so happy to see England's house.

America brightens as he catches sight of it. "Huzzah, I thought we'd never get here! I've never been more excited about the idea of a bed."

"I do not doubt it." England chuckles to himself.

Confused at what the joke is America laughs with him, a high somewhat obnoxious sound. His drunken laugh is the worst, definitely. Though even it is awesome because everything about him is amazing.

This thought gets stuck on loop as England drags him into the house.

* * *

Translations:

Bonsoir Angleterre-Good evening England

amant-lover

mon petit-my little one

Quel dommage-what a pity

Historical notes:

Spain discovered Mexico, but I am not really sure if they called the area Mexico yet so... mreh. Everyone was sniffing around the New World -laughs-

There was a big to do about the Catholics and the Protestants back then. It didn't really get super violent until after Queen Elizabeth died and James I took her place. He was severely Protestant and didn't tolerate the Catholics as much as Elizabeth. The U.S. was majority Protestant for a long time and it wasn't really until about the 1800s during the Great Potato Famine that the U.S. started getting a ton of Catholics with all the Irish immigrants. There was a group called the Know Nothings that thought such ridiculous things as the Pope was sending them in to take over the country -laughs- Oh jeez religion...

**AN: **I think England was probably better at drinking back then -laughs- And this would have been longer but there is a certain saucy scene coming up and this was the only real good cut off place without the chapter being really long. (which I didn't feel like doing haha)


	5. Chapter 5

Hellu~ Sorry this took so long to get out! It took me a stupid amount of time to write it... -bows head in shame- Congrats to Genki-angel-chan my 100th reviewer!

* * *

America is glad he knows the basic layout of England's house or it would probably be a lot harder to walk around. Once he gets the basic idea that England is taking him towards his bedroom he knows which way to stumble. It is dark though which makes it more difficult.

After fumbling with the door for a moment the two of them cross the threshold. England dumps America on the bed unceremoniously then walks across the room. He removes his coat and throws it over the side of a chair. His hat goes on the dresser, followed by his flintlock.

Sitting in the chair he removes his boots. And all the while his eyes never leave America. Drunken out of his mind America who can barely sit up, who clumsily removes one boot then forgets the other. Pretty little Alfred.

England stands and walks back towards the bed, looking down at him. America blinks repeatedly, trying to bring him into better focus. "You seem to be a bit uncoordinated Alfred, let me help you."

America waves his hand. "Naahhh, I'm fine, shee? I can- I can walk a straight line officher."

While he babbles on England is already removing his other boot. Alfred lifts his head up. "Thanksh for putting me up for the night. I 'preciate it."

England smiles darkly. "It will be my pleasure."

America closes his eyes and lowers his head. Everything is still spinning and all he wants to do is sleep this off. "Ish time for sleep...Mm I'm tired."

England clicks his tongue. "Oh but Alfred, the night isn't quite over for you just yet."

America's eyelids flutter open and he frowns. "Hn? What do ya mean?"

England reaches down and rips his shirt open as if it is the most casual thing in the world. America stares up at him with delayed alarm. However, he immediately feels more alert. "Wh-what did you do that for?"

England slowly traces his fingers along America's chest. "I think you know why."

A chill travels down America's spine. "I...Um, look I don't really think, I mean-"

England interrupts his panicked dialogue, hand still roaming across his chest. "Let me put it this way. I have been thinking about how much I want you since about the moment we met. This was decided long ago. So, it can go two ways. Things can proceed pleasantly and you can be a good boy and enjoy it the way I know you want to or I can take you by force. What do you say Alfred?"

America is thrown for a loop. Wait, where the hell has this come from? One minute they're hanging out and drinking, him mostly being ignored, and all of a sudden England wants to jump him? It's so... wrong. It's weird... it's... preposterous, that's a word he can use right?

England grabs his face and forces America to look at him. "Well?"

America swallows hard and tries to think, a difficult task even when sober. On one hand he can get date raped. By England. Which is really, really embarrassing even if he is all bad ass right now. Or drunkenly try to fight him off. He's not sure what to expect. On the other he can give in to England's past self's desires. Let him do as he pleases...

While the third notion would usually be unthinkable he finds himself... well, frankly not as opposed to it as he probably should be. Maybe it's the alcohol or the fact that England's bad ass attitude actually turns him on a bit, but taking the offer of the man who is currently running his calloused hand across his skin sounds rather appealing at the moment. Not quite as appealing as sleep but not bad. Better than trying to actually coordinate himself to fight him off anyway.

After debating it a moment longer he decides he's not really in the mood for a fight and this England is different enough that it won't be weird getting with him. Drinking so much sure hasn't helped his judgment, that's all he knows. Come to think of it he probably won't even remember in the morning! So what the hell. He clumsily sits up and tries to shrug the ruined shirt off.

England smirks. "There's a lad."

He helps him pull the shirt off and throws it aside. The second it's out of the way he clamps his mouth around Alfred's nipple, swirling his tongue around it.

America shivers. "Hnn! Sh-shurprise attack..."

He begins to giggle drunkenly and England gives him an annoyed look. England pushes him back against the bed, straddling him. "Refrain from making any noises that displease me or I will gag you."

America stifles more obnoxious giggles. "Aye aye Captain. And what noises am I allowed to make?"

England slowly rocks his hips. "You may moan. You may cry out. You may scream my name. You may even beg as long as it is not to stop. Anything other than those should be refrained from. You are very attractive Alfred but you are offensively stupid."

America tries to sit up. "I'm... I"m not stupid! You're stupid, you stupid-"

England kisses him roughly, forcing his tongue into his mouth. He pushes him back against the bed, pinning one of America's wrists. America resists a second then lets himself rest against the bed. It's easier to lie back and let England do the work. And he seems very eager for that task.

Continuing the fierce kiss, England's other hand travels down his torso again exploring the expanse of flesh. When America feels his lungs might burst England finally breaks the kiss, licking his lips. "Mm, you even taste better than what I am used to."

America gives him a slow, doofy grin. "Everything about me ish great."

"Ah ah, what did I say about talking?" He traces his lips along America's jaw and down his neck. Pausing at a spot he sucks roughly as he simultaneously begins to rub one of his nipples. There is no mercy in any of his actions. They are all sharp and demanding.

Oooh this is a lot hotter than America had expected. England isn't supposed to be good at this sort of stuff, he's England. Maybe this is a drunken delusion? Too bad he's hardly in the position to pinch himself to see if it is a dream.

England stops his sucking and travels further down to nuzzle his shoulder. A moment later America yelps as England bites him hard. Nope, definitely not a dream. "Ow! That really hurt! What did you do that for?"

Giving America a smirk England hovers over him, green eyes oddly intense in the dim light. "So everyone will know you are mine."

America's cheeks flush. "Wh-what? Y-yours? Just who do you think-"

"You are very poor at following commands Alfred." England silences his protest with another kiss, sucking on his lower lip until it feels bruised. When he pulls away he gives America a reprimanding look. "Now hush up poppet."

America gives a grunt of displeasure but is silent otherwise. Satisfied, England goes back to work. This time he lavishes America's collar bones with his tongue, occasionally nipping them. Trailing kisses down his torso he pauses to nuzzle America's stomach.

America suddenly realizes both his hands are free. He stares at one of them blankly. Dizzy... he feels dizzy. Another sharp pain as England bites his hip. America hisses. Does he have to be so damn rough? Overall it's not bad though. He flexes his fingers, concentrates on making the digits move in his blurry vision. A soft gasp escapes him as yet another bite is placed on the tender skin of his inner thigh.

When had his pants come off? Damn it, what are the things he is allowed to say? He isn't supposed to beg him to stop... can he ask him to quit biting or else get punched? Alfred does not like biting and he never has. "H-hey... touch me."

America holds his breath as England leans up, licking the side of his mouth. "Excuse me?"

Dear god those words have never sounded so menacing. "Uh...p-please? Won't you please touch me instead?"

America defiantly meets his gaze as England tries to stare him down. Granted he does look about a thousand times more scary than usual but he won't let England push him around too much no matter what the year is. After a moment England's gaze changes. It is more curious than irritated. "...It has been a long time since I have met someone who can stare back and not flinch."

"Well there you go. I'm like a... a starin' machine! Yeah..." America gives him a cocky grin that mostly looks droopy.

England begins to remove his own shirt, contemplating the man beneath him. "You are not afraid of me."

It seems odd to be seeing England in this way. Sure he's seen him without a shirt on, but never in this intimate of a scenario. "Hmm... Nah, why should I be?"

He bites back a giggle. It dies trapped in his mouth as England fixes him in the most intense look of his life. "I think we will have to fix that."

Bowing his head down, England takes America into his mouth without the slightest warning, just past the head. America moans at the unexpected contact. "Sh-shurprise attack two."

He closes his eyes and worries his already sore lip as England begins to suck and lick on him as if he is a tea time snack, gradually taking him in more and more. Ah... why is England so damned good with his mouth? What a slut. He might be disappointed if he actually cared that much. Mostly it is a bit shocking.

Just when all seems right with the world—a great alcohol buzz going, a place to sleep for the night, and a warm mouth around Florida—the tables quickly turn. There is suddenly a very menacing scrape of teeth along his length, ever so light. It is still enough to make the blood in his veins freeze. "N-no, oh no. You wouldn't!"

England's weight rests heavily on his legs, hands firmly pinning down his hips so he can't squirm or buck. Another feather-light graze of teeth. And another wave of very real worry goes through America. "H-hey... Hey! Don't bite me down there!"

The action is repeated. Is it just him or does it seem a bit harder this time? "Don't you dare you sadistic bastard!"

America reaches down and grabs England's hair but isn't quite brave enough to try pulling it. That might earn a bite for sure. "A-Arthur, come on! Please! I-I promise I'll shut up and do anything you want just don't do that! I'm begging you!"

England hums around America, sending a conflicting signal of pleasure to mingle along those of panic. Finally he pulls away, grinning like the devil himself. "Whatever is the matter Alfred? What would put the idea in your head that I would bite you? It would be a shame to hurt it before I have had my fun eh? I suppose I will make a compromise with you. Watch your mouth and I will be sure to watch my teeth."

Nodding like a puppet on a string, America accepts with tears in his eyes. It definitely isn't worth fighting with him if it means risking one of the best parts of his anatomy.

England reaches up and strokes his cheek. "Now no need for such a frightened expression on that lovely face of yours."

He begins to run his hands soothingly along America's body, greedily mapping it out. After a while he adds his mouth again but there are no more bites. Whenever he wants to make a claim he sucks harshly until there is a bright red hickey. When he pulls back to admire his handy work he is quite pleased that Alfred is so thoroughly marked as his possession. Absolutely breathtaking.

America lets out soft, satisfied sounds, careful to mind his mouth. He is still a bit sleepy though. If not for his body being so aroused he might fall asleep. The ache for more contact sends dull waves through him and every so often he tries to press up against England for any kind of friction. He has thoroughly neglected that part of America's body ever since the dangerous tease blow job. But every time he does push against him England holds his body away, denying him any relief. The guy really has one hell of a cruel streak.

Finally England determines it is time to move on. Usually he never spends so much time on this sort of thing but this lad is the prettiest he has been with in a long time. Prettier than most of the women he's been with lately, too. His body is wonderful, his skin flawless for the most part minus some scars for flavor. It really is a shame that the illusion is broken when he speaks.

"Roll over Alfred, and if you are not too terribly drunk try to get on your hands and knees."

America squints up at England. He has gotten so comfortable lying there complacently. He doesn't really feel like moving. England raises an eyebrow and it is all the warning he needs. With a soft grunt he turns his body over and struggles onto his knees. He feels like his arms will simply give out any moment and he doesn't like the precarious sensation.

He turns his head to look over his shoulder as England is removing his pants and admiring the view. "Better not jusht shove it in there or I swear to god... I'mma... do somethin'." His body tilts and he quickly rights himself. "Got it?"

"There is that talking thing again. Dreadful. And what sort of something will you do?" England runs a hand along his back, more amused than anything.

America can't think properly. "Um... you have... no idea. But you'll totally regret it. Yeah..."

That sounds threatening right?

Snorting with amusement, England lets his hand trail down and rests it on America's ass, giving it a squeeze. "I am quivering in fear."

As America is trying to glower over his shoulder and not really succeeding, England begins to suck on two of his fingers. He places them at America's entrance and starts to rub lightly. America's face flushes. "Very well, I can be a generous man. But I will expect something for it later."

All but smirking, England sticks both fingers in at once. America grunts and hisses, clutching at the blanket beneath him. Shit this hurts! What a jerk. England stretches him mercilessly, not a hint of gentleness in his actions.

'Generous man my ass,' America grumbles internally. It suddenly strikes him as funny and he has to bite back a drunken snort of laughter. Who knows what awful thing England will do if he disobeys him now.

After a while it becomes more tolerable much to America's relief. At least he's gotten him to do this much. From England's earlier comment it sounds like he probably would have just gone full on and then America would have had to choke a bitch, ridiculously drunk or not.

"I do hope this is enough for you, it is all you will get." England removes his fingers. The relief is short-lived as they are quickly replaced by England who is bigger than the digits. America gasps and winces. Even with prep it is not exactly a picnic.

Pausing for a moment England rubs America's hips, watching as he pants heavily. "Mmm you do make such a pretty sight. And you feel very good."

"Y-you shound... like a... knave." That is what that one guy had called him before he stole his clothes and he had sort of been wanting to use it.

"Peace be quiet! Or have I not asked you enough times?" To emphasize his displeasure England pulls out and thrusts back in roughly.

America grunts and bites his lip then whines obnoxiously, "A-Arthur..."

"Well what do you know, he can listen to commands when he wants to. Care for more?" England begins to rock his hips creating a burning friction.

America clutches the sheets again. This doesn't exactly hurt but it is definitely uncomfortable. He closes his eyes and tries to relax and keep his balance even as his body begins to rock with the force of England's thrusts. Harder than it sounds.

England's hands begin wandering around his body. Across America's stomach, along his thighs, teasingly over his cock. America shivers and moans loudly, his arms giving out. Elbows will have to do, he can't keep it up anymore. Ooh and it is good, it is so good once the initial discomfort ends. It is suddenly quite easy to follow England's commands as he moans and cries out. From time to time America clumsily pushes back though it tends to only succeed in messing up England's rhythm.

He gasps sharply as England brushes against his sweet spot. "Please, nnnn please there. Arthur there!"

Chuckling softly, England leans down so he is flush against America's back and licks the shell of his ear. "Enjoying yourself poppet?"

America moans in response. Yes, he's enjoying this way more than he should be. This is England... England who is so unlike his England. England who is deliciously controlling, possessive, demanding. England who fucks America until his knees are tired and his body is burning with pleasure. England who takes and takes until America has nothing left to give. Such a greedy lover. And America enjoys every second of it, even begs for more.

On top of being greedy he is a sadistic lover. England teases him to the verge of climax then does something to hold it back. Teeth restricted, he bites into America with his nails then soothes with tongue and lips. Delicious, his pretty little Alfred is wonderfully delicious and so responsive. By the end of the night he will have laid full claim on this body and then some.

To America it feels like it goes on forever, his body screaming for release. Not to mention he's so completely exhausted it's a miracle he can support himself anymore. But England just keeps going for his own enjoyment and seems perfectly content to continue on as such. America turns his head and speaks. "Arthur... p-please. I want..."

"Oh but it is not about what you want at all, is it Alfred?" America can hear the purr of satisfaction and the smirk ass look on England's face in the words. "But do tell me and I might consider it."

If not for the fact that America is dying for release he might give England a good smack for that one as well as a sharp word or two. "Mm... Let me- ...Please let me finish already!"

A thoughtful sound is made, disgustingly false and mocking. Oh England is such a bastard! If he says no, America is totally gonna rape him even if it is uncoordinated as all hell. No one has ever teased him so hard in his life. Usually he would never allow it.

As if sensing his mutinous thoughts England finally slides his hand along America's cock. "I suppose as you have mostly behaved yourself after a rough start and have held up so wonderfully despite being intoxicated I shall grant your request."

America loudly moans to show his appreciation as England begins to jerk his hand in time with his very deliberate thrusts. Oh yes this is exactly what he needs. He rubs his face against the bed, breathing harshly as he groans and mutters England's name.

Hot... America feels so incredibly hot. Everything begins to build and he is lost in it as he focuses on that feeling of release. He wants it so bad now he can hardly stand it. And thank all that is good and decent in the world, for when it reaches the point where he is at the edge England does not stop him cold this time. This time he is allowed to fall over that edge freely, coming harder than he has in a long time. If he were more sober he might be a bit embarrassed at the shameless cry he lets out as his body shakes with the aftershock of his orgasm.

Grinning smugly, England continues to press into America at the same reckless pace. He has never left a leman of his unsatisfied and Alfred is hardly an exception. With a grunt he finishes, closing his eyes with satisfaction as pleasure shoots through his body. This lad is proving to be a very pleasant bedmate.

The two of them do not move at first. Actually America does not really move at all. He is completely drained and his body does not want to move a single muscle. England finally pulls out and slumps down next to him.

"Well Alfred, I give you permission to have your words back. Did you enjoy yourself?"

America snorts. What a pompous asshole. He almost wants to tell England he is totally terrible in bed but he can't quite manage such a blatant lie. In fact he can't muster the energy to say much of anything. "Mmmhmm."

England reaches over and strokes his back. "Hm, what a shame. It seems you will not be able to stay awake any longer. And I had just started to play with you. I suppose the rest will have to wait."

Wait? Is he planning on having sex with him again or something? Just a second. Did he say he had just _started_? What the hell kind of monster is England exactly? Seriously! Damn, he can't even imagine going another round after that. In fact his eyes are barely staying open. "Mm."

He can't deny one thing, he is completely content, like being wrapped in a warm cocoon of total physical bliss. Fingers slide through his hair. It is the last thing he is aware of before he falls into a very deep sleep.

* * *

Elizabethan terms:

Peace be quiet! - A general saying of the time. Pengland is using it as an equivalent of stfu here.

Leman – lover, mistress (I particularly like this term considering England's 'marriage' to Queen Elizabeth hehe~)

**AN: **Oh Pengland you cheeky man you, all obsessed with claiming everything in sight~ I love writing him as a total asshole. And did you know the word intoxicated came into use before the word inebriated? Oh the little touches are what count -laughs-


	6. Chapter 6

Wow, do I fail at life or what guys? So about two months later here's the next chapter of this... -dies- I'll try much harder to not do that again! Sorry! This story takes me a while because I have to look up a lot of things and I actually had to rewrite a big part of this. Um, not that it's an excuse.

Also, I just want to throw it out there, whatever you think is going to happen in this story... you're probably wrong -laughs- You'll see eventually~

Big thanks to Reigning Rats and Naroki for helping me look some stuff up~

* * *

Waking up the next morning is perhaps the most unpleasant experience America has had in decades. The first few seconds are alright. And then everything hits him all at once. A hangover the size of Alaska leaves him with a booming headache and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. England's rough treatment, which his intoxication hasn't seemed to magically wipe from his memory like he thought it might, leaves him aching across his entire body. For a moment America wonders if the sweet release of death might not be more welcome to this.

With a loud groan he opens his eyes and slowly sits up, looking down at himself. Bruises, hickeys and bite marks make their way down his whole body, some places bearing imprints of fingers and teeth. He groans again and turns blearily to glare at the man who should be in the bed with him but isn't. America looks around the room, the quick movement making him queasy. Closing his eyes then opening them slowly he reaffirms more slowly that he's alone in the room.

His clothes are carefully folded on a chair next to his bag and boots, which sit side by side like soldiers at attention. America starts to slide out of the bed and as he tries to ease into a standing position pain shoots down his backside. He grits his teeth. Fuck that hurts! Damn England, he had really abused his poor body! Taking advantage of a drunken soul in need of shelter, some gentleman. Gentleman rapist is more like it! Though, unfortunately, America can't even pretend to have forgotten how he had begged Arthur for more. Truly humiliating.

Bracing himself, he stands and a sharp pain shoots up his spine. He winces and starts to walk forward, limping a bit. The initial pain, while awful, is the worst of it and he manages to only cringe a little with each step. Stupid England.

America goes to his pile of clothes then realizes it isn't what he was wearing before at all. A new outfit... And a piece of paper rests on top of it written in elegant handwriting. '_Wear this.' _Oh, well good to know he has a choice in the matter...

Grumbling, America dresses slowly. The clothes fit better than what he wore the day before and are both cleaner and of a better quality. He still feels like a doofus in them. Once he's managed to dress himself he contemplates whether bashing his head against the side of a desk will make him feel better. And he bets there's no such thing as pain killer in this time period. Or if there is it's something weird.

It suddenly occurs to him that England might have gone through his bag. He quickly looks at it but the knot is still the one he had tied and he lets out a relieved breath. And where is the pocket watch...? America looks around with increasing panic—England had seemed tempted to steal it before—then relaxes when he sees it is resting on England's dresser.

"There you are, you little bastard. Look what mess you've gotten me into. I feel like death warmed over then killed again you little..." He's talking to a watch. Awesome.

Giving it a nasty look he clicks it open out of a desire to see the time before remembering it's frozen and doesn't actually work. He's about to close it up again when he notices something and freezes. The hand...Not the hour hand, it is still perfectly centered on the twelve. But the minute hand...It has moved. Definitely. Not an 'oh maybe it's a trick of the light' like he figured it had been before, but undeniably in a different spot. It has crawled from the twelve to a little past the two.

"What the..." He frowns and stares for a while. There is no second hand and it doesn't budge once in the time he stares (not that it's for very long, his attention span is too short) but there is no denying that it has moved at some point. America shakes the watch and holds it to his ear not sure what he should be listening for. Finally he shrugs and clicks it shut, tucking it safely into a pocket. He has no idea. Must just be broken, that's all.

Looking a little more presentable and still feeling like shit, America finds his way out of the room. He shuffles through the house, searching a bit half-heartedly before heading towards the kitchen area. Might as well see if he can find something to eat that will be easy on his stomach.

As he enters the dining room he comes across England, who is writing away, dressed impeccably and looking a bit wistful. He glances up for only the briefest moment as America enters the room then scratches something down, shakes his head and scratches it out, writing something beneath it. "Good morning, Alfred. Would you like some ale?"

What, that's it? After all the lewd things he had done to him last night? A good morning and ale? As if he wants alcohol anyway. America scowls a bit and walks over to him, trying to read over his shoulder. "No thanks, don't really want some now." Or perhaps ever again. "What are you doing?"

England presses the tip of his quill to his lower lip, leaving a small black dot before jotting something down. "Not that it is particularly any of your business but if you must know, writing a sonnet."

"...Sonnet..." America has been brutally fucked by a man who writes sonnets for breakfast. He will never, ever, ever live it down. Not in his entire life. He groans and sits down heavily in the chair next to him, wincing as he does. The small smirk that twitches on England's lips is not lost on him.

"And tell me, what is wrong with sonnets?" England glances up at him, capturing and keeping eye contact this time.

"...Nothing, nothing is wrong with them at all." It's not like he wants England to go off on a rant about the majesty of sonnets or some crap like that.

England's smirk grows and he makes no attempt to conceal it. "Hmph, undoubtedly you are from a country, class, or both in which the sonnet is not an appreciated art."

Why is England such a dick? He wonders if he smashes the other's face hard enough into the table that he passes out if that will effect the future. Huffing and holding his irritation in, he ignores the comment and instead asks a question. "Who are you writing it for?"

If anyone. Seriously, who would England write a sonnet for?

A bit of color touches England's cheeks and America gapes for a moment, not sure if he's seeing things correctly. "Her royal highness Queen Elizabeth."

The answer takes America aback and then he grins, a small chuckle escaping him. "Oh yeah? Well that's expected I suppose. The English do have a bit of a love affair going with the queen don't they?"

England is up on his feet in a flash, grabbing America by the hair and pulling his head back sharply. His green eyes flash coldly. "Do not speak so flippantly about Her Majesty or I shall see you beheaded! Elizabeth is twice the leader her father was and has made me into one of the greatest empires the world has ever seen. You will show proper respect you lowly cur."

Eyes wide with surprise, America tries to nod then winces as it further pulls his hair. This is in no way helping his headache. "S-sorry, I didn't mean-"

"God save the Queen," England says severely.

America stares at him a moment more before softly murmuring, "God save the Queen."

After another tense moment England loosens his grip, his fingers slipping through golden locks. He reaches down and grabs America's chin, tilting his face slightly. "You have lovely bone structure. I enjoyed looking you over properly this morning as you slept. My claims look stunning on that pretty skin of yours."

America jerks his chin away, glaring silently at him. England returns it with a smirk then sits back down, calmly looking over his writing. "Are you sure you would not care for some ale? The flavor is quite good."

Crossing his arms and totally not pouting, America glares at the table. "I said I don't."

"Suit yourself." England pours himself a cup then continues to scratch away.

America watches, still feeling a bit taken off guard by England's violent outburst. He does remember England speaking fondly of Queen Elizabeth but has never thought much about it. England liked a lot (though not all) of his royalty. America never had fondness for any king or queen. In fact he detests the idea of it so much he had encouraged the law forbidding any from so much as having that as a title in his country.

Then again...Isn't Elizabeth the queen that declared herself married to England? America looks at England shrewdly, who is now copying whatever sonnet he has written on a fresh piece of paper. Well, he'll just have to make sure not to piss him off like that again. No talking about the Queen then. Whatever shall they talk about now? He holds in a snort of amusement. "Can I have food?"

Much to America's annoyance, England refuses to respond until he has finished copying down everything. Finally he looks up at him, expression far less intense than it had been. "Of course you can have food. I think you want to know if you may have food."

Rage goes through America. He doesn't give a fuck what the difference between 'may' and 'can' are! He just wants some goddamn food and aspirin. "_May _I have food or do you starve your guests?"

England frowns slightly and stands again. "I will bring you something."

Once England is well out of earshot America mutters, "Asshole." He crosses his arms on the table and buries his head in them. He feels awful. Head pounding and hurting where England had pulled his hair, body aching, stomach churning. Worst night ever. And this isn't exactly turning out to be a rosy morning after either.

And England... He's certainly more interesting in this time period but he's a lot more insufferable too. Walking around like he's ruler of the world or something. Then again at this point he is pretty powerful. It's still disgusting the way he acts. Such a creeper, too. A shudder goes down America's spine as he imagines England smugly looking his body over, proudly observing each bruise and suck mark he made.

"Here," a voice interrupts his self-pity. America sits up and England places a plate in front of him. "You know, you have dreadful table manners."

"I haven't even done anything yet!" he whines.

England clicks his tongue. "Trust me, I can tell. Now stop draping yourself upon the table."

Once again America contemplates how much more he can possibly damage the time stream by crushing England's head against something than he's already caused by simply being here. He finally looks down at the plate and almost bursts into laughter. England might be a lot different but he still seems to possess no cooking skills. Whatever is on the plate is totally unidentifiable. Luckily for America he has very little sense of taste and can stomach the crap. Which he does at a very slow pace, testing out how well his stomach will respond.

As he tries to eat England sits and watches him, sipping the ale from time to time. It's a bit unnerving. "What?"

"...You are eating it. It is alright?" When America looks at England he quickly looks away, putting on an air of total disinterest. "Well, I am merely asking on behalf of my guest."

Ah, so that's it. How many 'guests' has he murdered in cold blood with his horrific morning after breakfast? The world may never know. "It's edible."

England seems to huff at that and America smiles softly to himself. Small victory for him. "You know, I'm really surprised you haven't offered me tea, to be honest."

A perplexed frown comes to England's face. "...Tea? Why would you think I would have tea let alone offer it?"

America pauses and stares at him. "...You don't have tea?"

"Of course not. While I have tried it before it is vastly uncommon in Europe let alone England. Is there tea where you live?" He looks at America doubtfully.

"W-well um...I just..." He shuts his mouth, not sure what to say. He has always assumed that England pretty much came into existence with a cup of tea in his hand. Finally, a bit late, a response comes to him. "No, I just thought if anyone would have such a...rare...delicacy it would be you."

"Try the Orient if you have interest in such things," England says dismissively.

Feeling uncomfortable with his slip, America thinks about how to change the subject. "Er, I...could I, I mean, is there somewhere I can wash up? Take a bath?"

"A bath? Yes, that can be arranged. Do you bathe quite often?"

America stares at him, crinkling his nose a bit. "Of course I do."

England tilts his head then chuckles. "Such a troublesome guest. But an interesting one none the less. Very well."

Rude! He isn't troublesome, there's nothing troublesome about wanting to be clean! Especially after the night the fiend put him through. "Well, so sorry to be such a bother."

England stands and touches his shoulder lightly. "Finish your breakfast, I'll set things up."

With that England leaves the room. America continues to eat, frowning. The Great British Empire is a total dick. Time passes and America finishes eating. As he begins to wait he gets antsy, bouncing his foot. His annoyance grows. What, has England forgotten about him or something? This is getting ridiculous. Laughing at him off in some room as he writes lame sonnets?

Deeply irritated, America is just about to go look for him when England reappears. "I'm finished. Quite a lot of work you know. Come along then."

Curious as to what could have possibly taken so long, he follows England. He stops short as they enter a room. What appears to be a tub made of wood or something sits near a lit fireplace. England impatiently gestures him further into the room. "I haven't all day you know. Undress."

No way...Is this for real? Ah, how hard it is to remember a time before running water... Such distant memories. Whatever, he'll take what he can get. Very aware of England's eyes on him, America removes his clothes and sets them in a bit of a heap in a chair. England scowls at the pile then at him but doesn't tell him to fold them. So that's one plus.

America makes a move towards the bathtub when England stops him, grabbing his arm. "Just one moment. We have to clean you up first."

Clean him up...Isn't that what the tub is for? But England is picking up a cloth, dipping it in the water and rubbing what is probably soap into it. "Hold your arms out."

Grumbling quietly, America does as he says. "I can bathe myself you know."

"And I could care less." He proceeds to wash America, being surprisingly gentle as he wipes him down. Thorough, efficient, and yet almost (and definitely embarrassingly) doting. America gets a weird sense of deja vu from his childhood. The only thing that shatters the illusion is the occasional stray grope and intimate caress. Once England has rubbed him down thoroughly enough to leave a blush on America's face, he leads him to the bathtub.

America frowns a bit as he sees the water. Hardly looks like it'll make him clean so much as dirty him up again but it could really be worse. Slipping into the shallowly filled tub, he feels another wave of irritation at the time period as he finds the water infuriatingly lukewarm. If only he could have been sent to the future instead. Now that would have been awesome and surely more hygienic. He decides to pretend he's camping. It works more effectively than it probably should as he starts to adjust to the water.

England kneels down behind him and dips the rag into the tub, wringing the water against America and letting it roll down him. "Now that you are more sober, I wish to ask Alfred. Do you truly have nowhere to go?"

"...No, I can't say I do." Saying that makes him feel a bit antsy. Like admitting yes, he _is _in a spooky house all by himself to the mysterious midnight caller on Halloween night.

"Mm, then you will stay with me for so long as I tell you to. I doubt I'll be letting you go any sooner than it might take for one of these to heal." He strokes one of the bite marks he had left behind.

Now doesn't that sound creepy. America gingerly touches the bite mark on his inner thigh. Now that he thinks about it, he heals faster than normal people. These marks are going to disappear way before they should. England is sure to notice. Actually, considering countries can usually sense each other he's amazed England hasn't yet. Maybe because he's misplaced in time? Who knows, time travel stuff gives him a headache, cool as it may be.

America frowns and turns his head. "Are you saying you're keeping me captive here or something?"

"Captive? I don't _need _to keep you captive. You are at the heart of my country. I would love to see you try and escape the English Empire." England leans in and licks the side of his neck, giving it a light nip.

Well doesn't England sound smug. This is boding ill with him. Maybe he should try getting away. But where is he supposed to go? This whole situation sucks. Dumb magic watch. He shivers as England's arm slips around him, pressing the cloth to his chest.

England leans against America's damp back as he runs the cloth along him. "In all seriousness, what country are you from Alfred? You seem rather well traveled."

"Nowhere in particular," America mutters. "I...get around." He has no idea how much he gets around.

"Maybe you really are a spy," England practically purrs into his ear. "The Queen is rather tolerant of torture you know. I would hate to have to use it to extract such a minor detail."

America grabs England's wrist loosely. "What, you don't trust me? Besides, I could easily just tell you any country, couldn't I? Doesn't make a difference. Somethin' more honest about my not saying, isn't there?"

With a small snort England snatches his wrist free and pulls away from him. "You truly do have spirit Alfred. A rather brash spirit at that. I like that about you. But do not push your luck too much, mm?"

Giving his shoulder a small nibble, England stands and uses a dry cloth on his hands. "Feel free to soak as long as you please. Do know that no matter how much you delight in this luxury I will not feel obliged to draw you a bath too frequently. It is rather a bother."

America turns to face him for the first time, blinking up at him almost lazily. In all honesty he could haul up the whole tub filled with water on his own but...well, obviously he doesn't want to mention that little detail. How frustrating. It's like having to be a full fledged human or something. "Yes captain, my captain."

England raises an eyebrow at him but seems amused despite his rather unpleasant behavior and attitude. "I must go out for a while to see Her Majesty about some foreign annoyances I took care of for her. Do try to behave yourself. And I would much prefer if upon my return you were still here and not wandering about the city."

America is tempted to roll his eyes and refrains. "I'll see what I can do."

He can tell England is struggling with how to respond to his cheekiness. It obviously irritates him but he can't quite bring himself to get fed up. Of course not, America is super lovable and awesome, duh. Even if it's not the same as in his own time, he likes that he can fluster England a little bit even in the past.

Finally England smiles tightly. "Please do. I will return later. I await the evening with abated breath."

The twinge of sarcasm with the undertone of 'I will definitely bang you when I get back' makes America grin at its absurdity despite himself. "Have fun."

Shaking his head, undoubtedly from America's oh so unbearable stupidity, England gives a final bow of his head and leaves the room. America leans back in the tub and tries to think. So England will be out a while reading sonnets to the Queen or whatever, he needs to think about what to do. Is it in his best interest to stay here? To try and leave, potentially get caught? So long as he's anchored in England he might find a way out of his current predicament. It's not like he knows where else to go for a problem like this. But it also means getting violently sexed up or potentially breaking all of England's bones.

Rubbing his temples, America wishes he had superpowers. Not because they will help him in this situation, just because they would be cool. Like, flying, or mind reading, or the power to turn things into hamburgers at will. With a stupid grin on his face, America wastes his time imagining a whole epic of him as Burger Man, no longer even vaguely on task.

Precious time slips away, the minute hand of his pocket watch crawling ever so slowly forward.

* * *

**Historical Notes:**

Queen Elizabeth I – I feel that England would have been very fond of Elizabeth. She helped herald in what is considered the Golden Age of England. Plus, as I mentioned in the last chapter note, she referred to herself as being married to England and with Hetalia thrown in that's just good historical fun. And there really was a lot of torture (horrible, horrible torture at that) going on under her rule.

England without tea – Yes, there was once upon a time when tea did not exist in Europe, let alone England. In fact, England was pretty much the last major country in Europe to get tea. It was introduced to them by the Dutch around 1652 or so (from one source). In fact, aforementioned source claimed that the Dutch even brought it to one of their colonies in America (where New York now is) two years before England got it. (I didn't look into it enough to confirm this as fact, but thought it was hilarious). Tea was also originally referred to as Cha but no one would know what I was talking about if I said that, now would they? (Like America would know that anyway) And I could go on about the other useless info I found out about tea and tea trading but I won't. Ah, but as a country I just...felt like England would have at least tried it visiting with China or something.

Bathing – Bathing in the Elizabethan Era was a bitch, but people did do it to minimal degrees. Hair was washed separately and people washed themselves before soaking in wooden tubs that sometimes had water so dirty it was unfit to drink. This tub was left near the fireplaces to help warm the water up. For the lower class bathing was even more difficult and thus done even more infrequently.


	7. Chapter 7

Ah this took a long time again... I don't know why but this story if hard for me to write. Bollocks.

* * *

Once Alfred finally comes to his senses his fingers are starting to prune. He's no closer to figuring out how to get out of his current predicament but he definitely knows what his next movie project is going to be when he gets home. Slipping out of the tub, Alfred shakes a bit like a dog and dries in front of the fireplace for a while once he notices that England hasn't left anything for him to dry himself off with.

Still feeling a bit grungy but cleaner than he had after first waking up, Alfred dresses quickly. He tucks the pocket watch in his pocket, giving it a frustrated shake for good measure.

Now what? Perhaps lounge about, warm England's slippers and welcome him home wearing nothing more than a saucy smile and an apron. Pft as if. Not in the history of ever. He's getting out of here. It's a split second decision but he's not going to wait around this house like a little wife longing for her husband. He won't necessarily leave altogether, he still has some things to figure out, but he might as well check out the city some more.

After thinking about it he decides he better take his things with him. If England does come home and finds he's not here he might go through his stuff. And he certainly doesn't want him finding his modern clothes. He'd probably explode the future if he let that happen. Dashing up to England's room he grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. With that he's ready for an adventure.

America makes his way from the house and towards the heart of London. Now that he has his bearings he feels a little more comfortable just taking in the sights. The smell is still bad but doesn't bother him as much either.

Although he doesn't have any money on him Alfred checks out some shops, even trying some of the sketchier looking ones just to see if they might boast magical items for some unexplainable reason. Get a second opinion. It could happen. Wherever such shops exist, they are not where Alfred looks. He's not completely sure but a woman might have cursed him maybe two hours into his search. It's the closest he gets to anything 'magical'. All this walking around sure is making him hungry though...

Alfred begins to look at shops and booths that put food on display. He stands outside of one such bakery salivating longingly over the bread like a starving puppy. As much as it irks him he finds himself thinking of going back to England's house just so he can eat. Man he's lame, he really must steal some food next time he does something like this. '_Thinking ahead, do it Alfred F. Jones!'_

"Well, well, what an unexpected delight! I did not expect to see you again my brash lily."

Is that France's voice? It is. Alfred turns to face the perverted nation, who smirks at him. Frowning slightly, America crosses his arms and looks him over. Who is he calling a lily? "Oh, it's you."

France gives him a hurt look. "Oh please do not speak so dismissively about me! It breaks my heart. Is that dreadful Angleterre around?"

France's eyes dart around quickly but Alfred shakes his head. "Nah, not here. He's reading some lame sonnet he wrote to the Queen or something."

France laughs, relaxing. "Sounds like something he would do. I am amazed he would let you wander around on your own."

America bristles. "I'll have you know I can do as I please! That guy can't tell me to do anything."

"Mm, that must be what he finds appealing about you," France murmurs with a slight smirk.

"Eh?" America gives him a blank look.

With another small laugh France waves his hand dismissively. "Oh nothing~ Tell me, are you hungry mon petite? I will be glad to treat you in exchange for your company."

Well goddamn, France has redeemed himself after all. "Yeah! Bring on the food!"

A pleased smile snakes its way across France's face. "Very well. As impossible as it is in this hideous excuse for a country, let us try to find something actually edible. I do believe up that way a bit there is an establishment where the food will not kill one upon placing it on the tongue."

"Sounds good to me!" Honestly Alfred will eat a raw cow at this point. He never has been picky, though he supposes that really does make Arthur's cooking pretty hellacious if even he notices when it sucks.

With his usual vigor restored, Alfred quickly takes the lead and hurries forward with only the vaguest of instructions on where he's even going. France follows closely, mostly amused by his observations of the energetic youth. There is no mistaking that slight limp no matter how smooth Alfred attempts to appear in his stride. And when he is 'accidentally' pushed by the crowd into Alfred, his highly sensitive nose can detect the faint and so very tantalizing smell of sex. Oh yes, he is quite sure Arthur had as much fun as he did last night. Or rather, he would have if he was anywhere near as good a lover as Francis. Surely this poor boy was subjected to rough, crude prodding that in the eyebrow fiend's delusional mind equals sex.

As America tries to brazenly walk right past the tavern France has in mind, the older man reaches out and subtly caresses his arm as he urges him to stop. "Ah, you are so very eager! You have almost missed our stop."

"Eh? Oh well ya should have said something earlier!" Blissfully unaware of the other's thoughts or desires, America eagerly ducks into the building with nothing more than food on his mind.

France quickly catches up to America and leads him towards a back table. This place is still beneath his sensitive palate but at least the atmosphere is less volatile than most other places. France brushes America's cheek briefly. "It pains me to see that bruise left on your lovely cheek by that brute. Did he leave any other marks?"

The smirk that France's lips twitch into is missed as America quickly looks away, face flushing self-consciously. "N-no, not at all! I mean why would you ask that?"

France makes his voice syrupy with shallow concern. "Oh, he is just so rough. I simply wanted to make sure he did not hit you again."

"O-oh...Nah, he didn't hit me. I'm totally fine." Except the gajillion hickeys and bite marks and what not. France hardly needs to know about any of that. "So where did those two babes you were with go?"

Raising an eyebrow France speaks almost incredulously. "They were hardly that young! Oh yes their flesh was still firm and beautiful like that of virginal maidens but I would say they were no younger than yourself."

Oh right, babes, babies... Wrong time period for that slang. "Er, haha yeah just joking! Those two...ladies."

France looks wistfully at the air, almost obtaining a slight sparkle in his eyes. "We said heartfelt farewells to each other as we parted this morning. Where they may be now or where they shall go, it is alas not my fate to know."

So pretty much it was a one night stand and he probably didn't even know their names let alone care where they were now. America bites back a grin. "They were pretty. Didn't do too bad for yourself no matter what England was saying."

That encourages an arrogant little laugh from France. "Oh but of course! After all, it is me. I will not lie, I cannot say on this particular occasion I was not a little jealous of England and his companion for the night."

America sputters. "And just what makes you think-!"

The words are cut off sharply as a woman comes to serve them. France raises an eyebrow at him and he mutters that he'll take whatever she recommends so long as it's food. As if he really knows what kind of food they have available. Francis waves her away after giving her some very charming words that leave her bright red.

As she walks off America locks his glare back onto France, who laughs. "Oh my, excuse my assumptions. So, you are...employed we shall say, under Angleterre. Is the brute going to be...using you for anything in the near future?"

America in no way likes all the implied things in those pauses. Never mind, France is not forgiven. He's still a douche and America shall punch him in his future for his past wrongs. "No, he sure as hell is not. I can do as I please, like I told you already. Don't get weird thoughts in your head!"

France quickly puts his hands up. "I have no such thing! I was simply asking. Perhaps you can do some work for me instead? I am not sure where you are from but if you have not been to France you will surely enjoy it. The food is certainly superior."

Do some 'work' for him huh? America gives him a tight smile. "Nah, I dunno where I'm going or if I'm going anywhere but I don't really think you can do much for me."

A very mischievous smile comes to France's face, pervert meter off the charts. "I think you might be surprised. I certainly pleased my lady friends last night. Truly, how can you stand to be with that man for even a second? Like chewing thorns."

America leans his chin on his hand. That is certainly impossible to deny. "Well he is definitely an unbelievable bastard. I've been tempted to punch him no less than maybe ten times." Still, when he thought of him writing sonnets, trying to cook, and getting all flustered he couldn't help but smile a bit. "He's not the worst I guess. Still needs a good punching."

"My, my. You must have a will of steel to say such a thing. Or perhaps the patience of a saint."

Laughing loudly, America shakes his head. "Nah. I guess I just..."

It's hard to denounce England completely. No matter what he does or says. Awkward nagging gentleman or sadistic asshole pirate, both irritate the fuck out of America but he doesn't really hate either when he thinks about it. Weird. The smile fades into a distracted frown.

France silently fawns over the delicious spectrum of expressions that cross the youth's face until a plate of food is placed in front of Alfred along with a glass of ale. "Enjoy!"

Reaching over to take her hand, France gives her a winning smile. "Ah, but my lovely mademoiselle, how can he possibly enjoy it to the fullest when your bright face does not accompany it?"

A flattered, embarrassed giggle bursts from her lips and she reluctantly pulls her hand away. "Oh, listen to you! Remember sir, flattery does not pay the tab."

With that she walks away with a slight sway to her hips. As France watches her go America all but inhales his food. The ale turns his stomach a bit but its the only thing to wash the food down with. Have these people never heard of water?

America swallows his current mouthful of food and looks at France with vague curiosity. "So what are you doing here? Still got business with Arthur?"

If only those lips would speak his name with such familiarity! France sighs dramatically before answering the question. "Non, thankfully. I shall be departing from this filthy place tomorrow. Until then all I can do is take in some of the sights."

Which of course means find as many attractive individuals as possible and seduce them with romance while he is in the area. This boy makes a particularly appealing target not only because of his attractive face but because it means France is stealing him right from under England's nose. And how sweet _that _would be.

"Ah." America immediately loses interest, mind wandering to more useful things. Like what he should do from here on out. Definitely not going with France. Like that could ever be helpful. It would be nothing but an offensive sexual harassment storm. But England isn't really helping him out.

Then again maybe if he brings himself to admit that he needs magical help... It still sounds stupid. Might be his only chance though. And maybe it will distract England from his...other interests in America. There is no way his body is ready for a 'round two' of last night.

France finds himself growing weary of this bleak place, wanting to be somewhere with good lighting to better see his companion. "Are you quite finished?"

With a nod America stands, grabbing his bag and waiting for France to pay up. After throwing some coins on the table France puts a hand lightly on his back to guide him out. America arches away from the touch as best as he can and picks up the pace.

Once they're outside he stretches, feeling much better now that he's been fed. "Ah well... Thanks for the food."

America turns to leave and a hand grabs the back of his shirt in an iron grip. France laughs in a way that is probably supposed to sound light and breezy but just comes off sounding slightly menacing. "Oh but mon cher! Surely you are not going to leave me so soon. Come, enjoy a pleasant stroll with me!"

"Er..." What the hell?

Before he knows what is happening France has an arm around his shoulders and is walking down the road with him, a sunny smile on his face. "Really, how rude! And after I bought you something to eat. It would not kill you to waste some more time with me would it?"

Maybe. "I guess not..."

As France rambles on America spaces out. He'll give the idiot five minutes, ten tops then he's taking off. He has things to do. So what if he isn't quite sure what they are yet?

Where are they anyway? America suddenly realizes they're not on one of the main streets anymore but a crooked alleyway off to the side of one. France is suddenly pushing him up against a dirty wall, pressing in way too close for comfort. "Ah, my dear... You know, I never did quite catch your name. But such things are not important, oui? I am not sure what your arrangement with Angleterre is but I'll give you whatever your pretty little heart desires if you return with me to France."

"Personal space, have you heard of it? I have no interest in going to France! I told you, there's nothing you can do for me." And even if there was he's not sure he's willing to pay whatever price France might charge.

Much to America's disgust France suddenly presses their bodies together and brushes his lips against his ear. "Ah, but there is so very much I can and will do _to _you. And I guarantee you'll love every moment of it."

America is about to shove France violently away and even gets his hands on his shoulders when he feels something strange. "What the... It feels like there's something hot in my pants."

"Oh but of course there is, that is the natural reaction to moi!"

America crinkles his nose in disgust and gives France a hearty shove off of him. "Not you, idiot!"

The pocket watch... America shoves his hand in his pocket and wraps it around the watch. It has suddenly gotten very warm and it seems there's that faint pulsating like when it had first been activated. What's going on?

He starts to pull it out when France hauls himself up off his ass. "Heh, you are quite strong. But there is no need to be so coy with me! I shall treat you right. Give in to your desires!"

America clenches his fist to punch the approaching France when they are interrupted. "Well, well. What do we have here? I thought I didn't like the looks of this one."

America and France turn. Two of the England's men, ones whose asses America had thoroughly kicked, stood at the entrance of the alleyway. "'S right, thought he was mixed up with that France somehow."

France gives a very miffed groan. "You are interrupting something."

"I just bet we are. 'M sure the Captain will be very curious to hear about all this." Never before has a man looked so smug about a misunderstanding.

France reaches over and strokes America's jaw lightly. "Yes, I am sure he will find it riveting. You should go find him and tell him this moment."

America impatiently smacks his hand away. Right now he doesn't have time to worry about France or these two jackasses or even England at this point. The pulsing is getting stronger, the silver metal almost hot in his hand. Without a word he starts running the opposite way down the alley at top speed. He hears some shouting and the sound of pursuit behind him. No time, no time... What had activated the watch again? No time to think about that either.

America bursts into the crowded street and shoves his way rather rudely through people, trying to get away from his pursuers. He can feel the ticking getting stronger, though he has the feeling he's the only one who can hear it. He finally ducks into another side alleyway, hiding among the shadows as the two men pass.

Once they are gone he hurriedly pulls the watch out and clicks it open. Warm, soft blue light spills over him, momentarily blinding him. Squinting, he sees that the minute hand is perfectly aligned on the three. There's no more time to analyze it, the blue light growing stronger as once more he is pulled into that sensation of being enveloped by the sea, of falling through it...

And with that he is gone.

* * *

**AN: **The next chapter is NOT the last chapter but it will explain a lot. If you've felt the pacing was rather fast (or to some of you, rushed) in this story this is why. The story has been planned out in this way from the beginning and I have no regrets.

Also water used to be undrinkable, thus most people drank only ale or wine or things like that because it was clean.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello~ How are you all? So its been around two months since I updated this story and suddenly I'm never going to finish it? Please give me more credit than that -laughs- I know I've been very slow about updating some of my stories but that doesn't mean they're doomed~ If you're ever worried just go to my profile and check what its status is writing wise. Trust me, I'd state next to the story if it was discontinued and I have no such plans for any of my current stories. So no worries, okay? Okay! Probably my last update of the year. Happy New Years everyone!

* * *

A low groan escapes America as he slowly opens his eyes. Where...? On a hard floor in the dark. He gropes around, his fingers brushing against his cellphone. He clicks it and the area is bathed in pale light. America sits up gingerly and looks around. He seems to be in the basement area from earlier.

For a moment America is puzzled. Had he just dreamed all of that? Tripped and hit his head a little too hard? But then he notices the bag that sits off to the side. When he pulls it closer, opening it up, and clicks his phone again he sees it is filled with his clothes. So he must be wearing the clothes he got from past England. So...he has been time traveling! What the hell? He needs to get somewhere he can see.

Grabbing the bag up America fumbles back up the stairs, cautiously opening the doorway. When he sees the coast is clear he sneaks out further and ducks into another room, closing the door firmly. Sure enough when he looks down at himself he looks like he's stepped out of a period piece film. How much time has passed? He looks at his phone again to check the date and time.

Much to his shock he sees not only is it still the same day but barely any time has passed. He desperately tries to remember the last time he actually paid attention to the time. When he has an idea he's shocked to realize that by his hunch only fifteen minutes have passed since he originally picked up the pocket watch. Where is it anyway? He pats his body and once again finds it tucked away safely on his person. He opens it, a little afraid it will have him hurtling through time again. Nothing happens, the face of the watch staring back at him innocently. The hour hand is pointed firmly at the twelve, the minute hand at where the three would be. Three... Fifteen minutes.

A theory begins to form in America's mind when he hears a sound and jumps. He has to get himself cleaned up before England sees him. Once again, with a sneakiness that England's spies would envy, America creeps into the hallway and hurries up to England's spare bathroom. A shower...He gets to take an actual shower!

It doesn't take America long to strip himself down to nothing. When he glances in the mirror he freezes and gapes at his body. Mouth dropping open he walks forward and stares at his reflection, slowly reaching up and gently touching the bruise on his cheek. He looks down. Holy shit! Well there's definitely no pretending he was dreaming with all these bruises and bite marks. Unless something in England's basement violated his body violently and dressed him in old English clothing. Even he can't swallow that one.

Frowning a bit he goes to the shower, turning on the water. As the water warms he sighs and lets it just run over him for a long time. God, how had he ever lived without heated water, available at a whim? It's heaven. Oh and it's clean! America grabs a bar of soap and almost has a sensual moment with it as he washes his body, enjoying the clean smell of it and just the _feeling _of it on his skin. Next he shampoos his hair until it is frothy, sighing with deep satisfaction at the slight tingle it causes along his scalp. Oh to be clean! Cleanliness is close to godliness, right? Not that he doesn't mind getting dirty from a hard day of something like working on a car or a week of camping but... it's just different coming home from the past where the option isn't available.

Squeaky clean, America rubs himself off and finds a spare toothbrush, not even caring who has used it before. Maybe it's England's? Well if that's the case the guy had his tongue all up in his mouth so it barely matters anymore. He brushes his teeth for what seems like five minutes then rinses his mouth. _Now _he feels good. He pulls out his clothes and dresses and puts his glasses back on feeling like a new man. He tucks the old clothes into his bag and leaves the bathroom, a spicy smell and steam wafting out after him.

The next thing is to hide the evidence. His version of this is to haphazardly toss the bag with the old time clothing and pocket watch down the basement stairs with all his might. Perfect. So what if he thinks he hears a small crash? No big deal, England probably never goes down there anyway.

America walks back into the room he had been waiting in before. No sign of England. Maybe he never even noticed? America takes off his glasses and starts to clean them. They're not pristine from their time hidden away from the world.

"There you are you stupid wanker!" A hand suddenly grabs his arm and he's spun around. England is giving him a very annoyed look. It suddenly melts into a stunned, perhaps slightly perturbed expression. Like he's suddenly seen a ghost.

America raises his eyebrows and slips Texas back on. Much to his surprise his face grows warm. It's more than a little weird seeing normal England so suddenly and he doesn't quite know what to do at first. "Er... something the matter?"

England blinks, seeming to snap out of it. He clears his throat quickly. "W-where have you been? And what on Earth has happened to your face? I've been..." England pauses again. His frown deepens and he leans in and tentatively sniffs at America's bomber jacket.

A deeper flush crosses America's cheeks. "What are you doing you creeper?"

England suddenly seems more aware of what he is doing and backs away, releasing America abruptly. "N-nothing! I was just...I thought I... Well I thought you smelt like something that...made me nostalgic. I must have been mistaken. All I can smell is soap."

"Oh well...everything makes you nostalgic. And yeah, I decided to take a shower...you know... while I was waiting. The whole time. And I accidentally hit my face against the doorway when I was walking in." Oh yeah America is a genius.

The annoyed look begins to return but it's tempered by something else and he seems to be carefully studying America's face. "I see...Sorry to keep you waiting for so long."

When England doesn't stop staring America begins to fidget. England isn't anything like he was in the past but something about the way he's looking at him kind of gives him a similar feeling. "Jeez, what is it? I got something on my face or something?"

"...Other than that bruise you mean?" England shakes his head again and finally looks away, expression becoming closer to what it's usually like. "For a moment on top of that smell I really thought you looked like someone I used to know. The resemblance was...very striking."

A shiver goes through America and he bursts into obnoxious nervous laughter. "O-oh really? So there was someone in the world who looked just as amazingly handsome as me huh? Who was it?"

All of a sudden England looks rather uncomfortable. "Oh. He was...an acquaintance of mine."

Oh is that what people are calling people they ruthlessly fucked nowadays? Still, it's interesting...so he obviously hasn't screwed anything up in the past if England remembers him without being aware of who he actually was. Admittedly he's pretty impressed England still remembers him at all after all this time. A part of him is curious to probe a little bit more into how much England actually remembers of him. It's an ego thing. "So... a close acquaintance or... I mean how did ya know him?"

For a moment England is just taken aback that America is interested at all. Usually he can't care less about things that have nothing to do with him. Maybe it's just because it's someone who looked like him. "Mm...well, I suppose you could say he was a very interesting individual. Sort of fell out of the sky and seemed to leave the same way. I never did learn much about him personally. He was infuriatingly charismatic though, if not a bit dull in some ways."

Dull? What an asshole. "Hmph, I'm sure it's just because you didn't know him well. And did this mysterious man have a name?"

"His name was..." England looks up and meets America's eyes. An odd feeling goes through him as their eyes meet. "...I don't remember."

Oh fuck him! They have the same name! Because duh, they're the same person! How can England not remember the incredible name Alfred? Ass. "Huh. Couldn't have been that close if you don't even remember his name."

Why does America sound so tart about it? "...It was a long time ago. And, hmmm. I suppose by most standards we weren't all that close but for our only ever having met four times he did leave quite a deep impression on me."

Wait, wait, hold the phone and the pickles, _four _times? America tries to speak and makes a somewhat idiotic sound. He tries to cover it with a cough. "Er, four times huh? You sure about that...being such an old man and all? Not confused?"

"Piss off! I'm not an old man and my memory is fine! It was definitely four times! It would be hard to completely forget someone who could be so frustrating. Among...other reasons." Like what a great shag he had been. Oh yes, England still remembers that well. But that isn't the main reason that man is seared into his memory, no.

Oh so now he's frustrating? But America is too shaken by the fact that England says they had met four times to bother getting too huffy over it. He needs to think things over. "Huh... Well whatever. I, uh, gotta go now, okay Arthur?"

As he turns to run off England desperately grabs the back of his coat. "Where are you rushing off to already?"

"I gotta go punch France in the face. And also start on a movie. Thanks for inviting me, I'll catch you later!" He starts to pull forward, trying to get out of England's grasp. He will seriously go punch France before doing anything else though.

"You rude little-!" England holds on tighter. They've barely spoken to one another! The bloody git can't leave yet, he barely ever sees him and when he finally does get him to come out he just runs off and- America's coat slips down, giving a perfect view of the hickey on the back of his neck. England's body stiffens and the coat slides through his fingers.

America is somewhat surprised to find himself suddenly freed. He goes forward a bit and pauses, turning to look at England. The other stares at him silently. Why does he looked so damn shell-shocked? Honestly, the past Arthur wouldn't have let him go, he'd have told him he was never leaving his clutches or something. They're nothing alike, not at all. "...See ya around."

America dashes out of the house. There's a lot for him to do, a lot for him to figure out. He doesn't have time for England in this century when he has to worry about his past self and their apparent other meetings.

England stands frozen in the middle of the room. A dry chuckle escapes him and he sits heavily in a chair, gently draping his fingers over his eyes. So it's like that, huh? Should he be surprised America has a lover? All traces of a smile disappear and he leans his head back. He really is pathetic. Doesn't even have the nerve to ask him who it is.

God he needs a drink. Feeling overwhelmingly bitter towards the world at large England gets up to pour himself a stiff scotch. How disappointing today is turning out to be, and how odd. For a moment America really had seemed to have a faint smell from the time of Elizabeth's reign. A unique smell he hadn't even really thought of for ages and yet had seemed so comfortably familiar. And his sudden resemblance to Alfred...

Yes, as odd as it was he _did_ remember Alfred's name but he had thought it might come off as a little too uncanny and even more creepy to state America not only looks like a man he once knew but had the same name. There's no way they can look so similar, his memory must be playing a joke on him after all. It _has_ been over four hundred years. Alfred... such an odd man, almost wise at times in his weird way. It suddenly strikes him as odd that a past conquest might so closely resemble his current infatuation if his memory isn't too bad.

For a moment England carefully tries to repaint Alfred's face in his mind but it keeps on coming out looking almost identical to America's. How foolish, he really _must_ be remembering wrong. After all, Alfred's existence had slipped his mind for a while, as memories of people tend to. It wasn't until he had found a pocket watch at a dusty out of the way antique shop some years ago, perhaps the very same one Alfred had shown him, that his memory had been sparked anew.

England sighs and drinks down the scotch quickly, old guilt bubbling up to mingle bitterly with today's disappointment and hurt. Yes, he had liked Alfred very much in all honesty no matter how rocky things had started out. If only things could have been different, if only he hadn't been so stubborn and dangerously prideful back then. The poor boy wouldn't have had to meet such an awful fate.

~.

A deep sigh escapes France as he hears a knock at the door. And from the sound of it, the knock is not from the delicate hand of a gentle lady caller or even a gentleman. It is always irritating to be interrupted in the middle of his musings on romance and poetry but even more so when it is by someone rough or uncultured as this knock suggests. All contemplations of ignoring the sound are forgotten when it comes again, more instantly. "Oui, oui, I hear you!"

Quite annoyed, France makes his way to the door. He is admittedly surprised to see America standing there. "Oh, bonjour Amérique. To what do I owe this rare...pleasure?"

America grins at him then without any warning punches him in the face. France falls backward from the force, crying out. He holds his cheek in shock, giving America a stunned look. "What was that for you brute!"

America cracks his knuckles. Now that had felt good. "Oh you know, punishing the sins of your past with the pain of today. You damned pervert."

"What sins? I have done nothing!" This insolent brat! What is he going on about?

"Oh trust me, you have. You're lucky I'm leaving it at one punch and not throwing in some free castration. I gotta get going now, but you should maybe think twice about trying to molest the poor innocent, hungry souls of this world!" Justice served, America rushes off.

France pulls himself up to his feet, rubbing his now aching jaw. Even holding back America hits too hard for his own good! Oh sure he's molested people over the ages but it's nothing new! It's not like he's done anything to the American... he didn't quite dare risk getting his hand irreversibly broken. Oh so maybe he felt him up a little bit at the last New Years party but that had been such a minor thing! Surely not worth a punch.

Somewhat put out by the rude interruption of an otherwise pleasant afternoon, France closes his door and heads for his wine cellar. Honestly, he shouldn't have to put up with this.

~.

About two weeks pass and America thinks things over. He also writes out the basic outline for 'The Adventures of Burgerman', which will be totally awesome when it's finished. The more he thinks about it the more he realizes he needs to mess with that stupid pocket watch again. If England really has memories of meeting him four times simply as Alfred then he'll be messing things up if he doesn't fulfill these rendezvous. It is his heroic duty! Besides, now that he kind of gets what's going on he doesn't have to be so afraid. Not that he's ever afraid.

America has been coming up with a theory and the more he thinks about it the more certain he is. Of course he'll only know once he goes back and tests it out but... He's almost certain that he had been gone fifteen minutes exactly from the present and that the watch had tracked that. The fifteen minutes had equaled about twenty-four hours in the past. And if he was going into the past four times it was because he would spend fifteen minutes apiece present time each time until the minute hand made a full round around the clock. Then maybe the magic stopped working and that's why he never goes back. One hour altogether in the present, four days altogether in the past. Makes sense to him.

America decides it's time to test that theory, his adventurous side once more taking control.

~.

"Hey England, how's it going?" America grins at England as if it's perfectly normal to drop by unannounced at his house without some sort of ulterior motive. Which he totally has.

England stares at him in surprise, a pleased look brightening his expression before he quickly wipes it away. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Oh you know, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. Mind if I come in?" Without waiting for a response America pushes his way into the house.

England sputters for a moment then glares at America, shutting the door. "Make yourself at home."

"Sorry about last time and how I had to run off." America starts to calculate how he should distract England for a while.

"...It's not like I care. I had a quiet afternoon to myself." He wonders a bit jealously if America's hickey has faded by now or if there are new ones to take its place. "Though I did have to hear about how you punched France 'like a total barbarian' for almost two hours."

America laughs loudly. "He's so lame, I just bet he did. He deserves to be punched a whole lot more than that."

England raises an eyebrow slowly. "Well...I suppose I can't argue with that."

An idea suddenly comes to America. "You know what sounds really good? Some of your fresh baked scones!"

America actually _asking _for his cooking? "Alfred, are you feeling quite well?"

"Yeah! Perfectly fine. So can you make some?" Giving him a charming little smile America throws his arm around England's shoulders. "You know you want to!"

England's constitution begins to crumble. "Oh alright, if you're going to be a pest about it I suppose I could."

"Woohoo!" America is a great actor but even he's impressed with how convincing he sounds.

England quickly turns to hide the slight flush of his cheeks. "Come along then."

They make their way to the kitchen, America merely biding his time. England begins to pull things out, glancing at America from time to time. The bloody git is just rocking back and forth against the counter, looking totally ridiculous. Why is he so attracted to him? It's a mystery.

"...Oi, Alfred, I was just wondering if...if you were seeing someo-"

America interrupts him, not even really paying attention to what he's saying. "Hey, I just remembered there's a call I need to make really fast! I'll be back in a few minutes!"

Without another word he rushes off. England glowers after him and begins banging around the kitchen. Air head, wanker, useless little-! Probably off to go call his new lover or something. It's not like England _minds _when America imposes on him, forces him to bake, then goes and runs off to call someone else and leaves him alone. Just _fine _with him!

Pretending to go towards England's living room, America cuts a sudden left and goes the long way around towards the basement area where England's evil witchcraft stuff is. He opens the door quietly, pulling out a small but very bright flashlight from his back pocket. Oh yes, he is very prepared this time. He even avoided bathing for a couple of days to fit in better. He can always take another long shower when he gets back.

After closing the door behind him he uses the flashlight to guide him down the stairs. It's easier to see than with his cellphone, that's for sure. Once he reaches the bottom he searches for the bag, finding it a surprising distance away from the foot of the stairs. It seems he had knocked something over when he tossed it down but it doesn't look broken to him.

Holding the flashlight in his mouth, America opens the bag and dumps everything out, careful not to touch the pocket watch. With a little bit of struggling America changes into the clothes past England had given him. This time around he doesn't want any extra and very dangerous baggage to carry around with him. All he'll have is the clothes on his back and the watch.

Carefully putting his things off to the side America reaches down and picks up the pocket watch. Once again he notices the odd warmth to it. Any other metal object would be cold from being down here. He turns off the flashlight and gropes around to place it on a shelf then clicks the watch open. For a moment nothing happens and America frowns. Is there something he's supposed to do?

Just as he's beginning to really have his doubts there is the faint blue light, the ticking that reminds him of pulsating... America takes a deep breath and clutches it, feeling a buzz of anticipation. This time he's not freaked out as the light and the ticking become stronger and he lets himself enjoy it. It's almost soothing, like being embraced by the sea. The sensations are all so sharp, so raw...

And with that America is once more slipping through time.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello~ On a scale of one to I wanted to scream, guess how much research I did for this chapter? But it's the tender loving care that really makes these kind of stories shine, don't you think? Though srsly, if you point out some tiny detail I didn't get right, I very well might kill you~ haha I do like this chapter, though. There's a small bit inspired by Neil Gaiman. Cookie to you if you know what it is.

Also Sakura-con OMFG so excited~!

* * *

Once again, America is greeted with the sight of dazzling blue accented with some wisps of white. It's almost beautiful and then the smell hits him. America gags once then takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, takes a few more shallow breaths. He'll get used to it again. With a small groan, he sits up.

Well, it _looks_ the same anyway. As in it looks like he's gone into the past again. The weather is nicer than it had been before. Warmer. That's...interesting. The question of how time moves pops up then America dismisses it when it proves too difficult to figure out off the top of his head. Maybe there isn't even any rhyme or reason to when he pops up. Still, he should check the year just in case first chance he gets.

Tucking the pocket watch away, America gets to his feet and wipes himself off. Another ally way; it seems this thing is an express way to obscure back alleys. He supposes it's better than getting caught in public appearing from nowhere. Now the real question. Just what should he do?

It seems lame to go search out England on his own. Especially considering the circumstances he disappeared under. However, he obviously meets up with him again so... Walking around seems a good starting place, anyway (because it worked _so_ well last time). Dismissing his doubts, America steps out onto a main street. The area is more shady then where he had turned up last time. No gentlefolk here, at least not by the look of it. His clothes probably stick out but a few hardened glances here and there keep anyone from bothering him.

America hasn't been wandering around for too long when he hears shouting. Ever the hero and forever sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, America immediately turns in the direction of the ruckus and hurries towards it. As he turns a corner he finds two adult men cornering a young boy.

"For the last time, give us what you got, lest I be forced to take one of your eyes instead," the first man says, a blade pressing precariously against the corner of the boy's eye.

"I told ya lot, I don't have anything on me!"

"Lying little egg-shell!" The other man hisses. "Hand it over or we'll take it. After killing you of course."

Oh _hell_ no. There's no way America is letting those bastards get away with this. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

The two men look back at him, the boy squirming desperately in the moment of distraction. "Mind your own business! Doesn't concern you."

The other man spits in America's general direction. "That's right. If you know what's good for ya, you'll shove off."

"Leave the kid alone!"

There is a flicker of confusion over his word choice—there's not a goat to be found. It's clear enough what this man with the strange accent is referring to, however, and they don't ask for clarification. "Not 'til he gives us all he's got! We know this little thief has something up his sleeve!"

America strides forward quickly. His body tenses as he prepares to fight. The man without the knife gets a fist in the gut, then is flipped to the ground before he even knows what hit him. It's effortless, not even fun really. The second man releases the boy, knife pointed at America. He grabs the man's wrist, squeezing until he cries out and drops the knife. America flips him onto the ground as well. The two men scramble to their feet, glancing from America to the boy he now stands protectively in front of. They seem to weigh their options, their chances, and determine it's not worth the trouble.

"Best watch your back in the future, you little cutpurse!" One calls behind his shoulder.

"Get thee hence, you bunch of snipes!" The boy shouts, emboldened by America's presence.

America waits until the two men are well out of sight before turning to the boy. "Are you alright?"

When the boy gets a look at America he seems momentarily struck, eyes lighting up for just a second. "Ya, I'm alright. Grammarcy, sir."

"It seems dangerous for someone your age to be walking around in this sort of area. Does your mother know where you are?" Oh great, he's sounding like a nagging Arthur. How lame. But it's dangerous out here, clearly.

The boy represses a snort of amusement. A mum, really. As if she'd care if she was even around. However, he knows he's just lucked out and smiles nicely for the foreigner. "Mm. Mind taking me home? It's not far, I swear."

As if he'll say no to being a hero. "Sure, I'll get you back safe and sound! Do you know which way?"

The boy grabs his hand and, eyes darting around, quickly pulls America once more into the back alleys. This seems more dangerous but it's not like he can't handle anything that might be lurking back here. Abruptly the boy stops and puts a hand up, indicating for America to stay back a moment, then runs to the edge of a doorway and whistles loudly. A moment later a boy around the same age pops out. They talk hurriedly, the other boy hanging out the door to get a look at America. He quickly nods, there's more talking, and in a flash the other boy has run off.

America watches this all with some confusion, at first thinking that maybe it's the boy's brother or something. But no, the boy is returning and taking his hand again. "Sorry about that, sir. We can be on our way now."

"A friend of yours?" America allows himself to be tugged along.

"Yea, sir."

Things seem to be taking a lot longer than the boy implied; not that America minds. It almost feels like they're weaving in and out of places, killing time. But that's just a silly thought. He does, however, get tired of the silence. "So do you have a name?"

"Of course I got a name. Haven't most people got one?"

America laughs. "Sure, of course. What is your name?"

"James, sir."

"Good name, I've known quite a few in my day. It's uh... The year is still fifteen hundred and ninety five, right?" At least it doesn't feel as silly asking a kid.

"I would think so, unless I've not been paying proper attention. Been sleeping with the faeries and need some reassurance? Or just too much time in the pubs?" The boy laughs, amused by this strange man but not minding him all too much.

"Ah, just checking. It never hurts, right?" America laughs along with him, aware how ridiculous he must seem but not caring. As if he ever has. He's pretty sure he's given some of the others hemorrhages over his lack of knowledge on certain topics.

All of a sudden the boy from before comes running up to them, breathless but beaming. Once he's recovered he speaks in a hushed voice to James, who finally nods. The boy throws something like a smirk at Alfred then takes his other hand. "Good morrow, sir."

"Uh, right." What is going on? America gives them both confused smiles as they tug him forward.

James is quick to reassure him. "Oh it's nothing sir, my friend will just be coming with us if that's alright."

"Oh... Yeah, no problem!" Though even America is starting to get a weird feeling about this. Especially as their hands tighten on his almost simultaneously.

The feeling goes from being a vague notion to being a serious concern as he's suddenly brought to a dead end. "Um... What exactly is going on?"

Both the boys suddenly throw their weight down on Alfred's arm, James calling out, "Is this him? Is it?"

Alfred freezes, on the verge of lifting both kids up (really they weigh nothing at all), and turns his head to look where the boys are facing. It's not quite a dead end, there's actually an open doorway off to the side.

A figure steps out and a very grim-looking Arthur steps out into the light. He's dressed rather well, even better than the last time Alfred saw him. His eyes meet with Alfred's for a moment, expression not changing in the least. "This is him. Good work lads."

With an air of total indifference he pulls out a small pouch from one of his pockets and tosses it to the ground. The boys release Alfred and scramble to get it, cuffing one another as they both try to grab it. They dump the contents out. A few large, silver coins tumble to the ground and they make quick work of dividing them up, squabbling loudly until they're all squared away.

James stands and salutes Alfred. "Thanks for everything, sir!"

With that they're whooping and laughing and disappearing behind a corner. America stares in stunned silence. "...Was I just sold out?"

"You certainly were, poppet. It figures, really. I bribe informants and pay spies to find you and I get nothing. I offer a reward to pauper children and they deliver you to me within a fortnight. They work for cheaper, too. But now that I have you there is something I would very much like to know." Before America can even process what's happening England is striding forward and slamming him against the wall as he brings a flintlock up, jamming it violently under his chin. "Where exactly have you been?"

America stiffens. How is it that he's met past England twice and gotten one of his guns shoved in his face just as many times? "I've...been around."

England cocks the gun and presses it harder into his skin, the metal digging in hard enough to leave a round bruise there. "Oh? You have been 'around' and somehow alluded me for as long as you have? Don't treat me like a fool, Alfred. Where, eh? Some of my men saw you with that whoreson France before he left port. Or maybe with one of my brothers? Thought you might act a spy for Scotland? Ireland? Tell me so that I might send your corpse to the right one."

England really does have some anger issues. This is a sticky situation but America is cool as a cucumber, you can bet your buttons he is. If he already theoretically managed this he can get through it now, right? He just has to act some more. "I _have_ been around, and I swear I haven't done anything! I happen to know someone who has been keeping me in sanctuary and I haven't ventured out."

"Pray tell, who is this 'guardian angel' of yours?" The question is asked in a hiss. "And if you haven't done anything wrong, why have you needed them to keep you in sanctuary?"

America definitely needs to use his best acting skills. Play on England's ego, milk it for all it's worth. Good thing he has practice with this. Alfred manages to put on that kicked dog look that always makes Arthur do whatever he wants him to and begins his song and dance. "Can you blame me for hiding? You're completely terrifying! When I was at your house I got bored and went out to waste some time. I ran into France and he tried to violate me."

Painting himself as the victim might be iffy but it's his best shot. Good, he can see the spark of anger in England's eyes at that. "Some of your men did see that but all I could think about was getting away from France and your boys weren't exactly friendly towards me. I thought they might kill me before I could explain things, so I just ran. Once I got away I was sure that they would tell you what they saw and that you would, well, react like this. I though _you _very well might kill me on the spot for supposedly consorting with France based on nothing more than false charges. I went into hiding. I didn't still think you would be searching for me."

Why hasn't he won an Emmy or something? His acting is pure gold. This story is so legit he can't even believe it. Or rather, he _can_. Hopefully England does, too. And it really is pretty crazy that England is still looking for him. It's obvious to him by now that more than the two weeks at home has passed by in the past. He's just not sure how much more.

No time to think about that now, England is sizing him up, considering his story. "And who is this person you've been hiding with? You still haven't said."

"I refuse to give a name. I don't want you hurting anyone on my account. You have me here, don't you? Decide if you want to believe me, what you want to do to me, and leave it at that." No, really, America's killing himself here with how awesome he is.

England clicks his tongue, drags the barrel of the gun along America's jaw slowly, then finally withdraws it. "I suppose I can see the logic in your thinking. For now I will choose to believe you. I _was _going to kill you for treason against the crown but now I think I might do something else with you instead. It would be too much a shame to blow off such a lovely face."

That doesn't sounds so good considering what England did to him last time. America presses a bit harder into the wall. "And what might that be?"

England puts the flintlock away and grabs America's wrist, gripping it way too tight. It hurts in that bone crushing sort of way. "I am taking you to a play."

It's completely not what America expects at all. "A wha?"

"A play, can't you hear? I was on my way to attend one then had to dash over here to collect you. I shant be letting you out of my sights again so you'll have to go with me I'm afraid." England keeps a very crisp pace as he leads America forward.

"But I don't want to see a play!" The last thing America wants is to be bored to death with a stuffy old play that's probably never even been a movie adaption.

"What a shame," England says without the faintest hint of sympathy. He'd rather not take Alfred or go now that he's found him but he can hardly snub the guests who will also be attending. It might breed ill will and he hardly needs that. "Perhaps you might like it. It's William Shakespeare's latest."

Oh... a name Alfred actually recognizes. "Shakespeare? Which one is it?"

Admittedly England is surprised he seems even vaguely interested. "Let's see, what was the name... Something like 'Midsummer's Night Dream'. About the faerie folk and some other foolishness apparently. I do hope it does not offend the Queen when she sees it."

"I thought the Queen never went to see the plays." That's one thing he vaguely remembers England spouting about on his long winded speeches about Queen Elizabeth and Shakespeare and how his culture is so great—more like boring—blah blah blah.

"Elizabeth? Of course she doesn't go to see the plays. Not in public theaters. She does like them but views them at private indoor playhouses." Though why he's even bothering with telling this fool is beyond him. Especially as he's still a risk of being a spy. That information might even be dangerous, though it is not exactly a secret. He must watch what he says around Alfred. He's just so damned disarming for some reason. "I was talking about a different Queen."

"Ah, of course." What, like the French queen or something? America decides to drop it before he says something that will have England mocking him again.

After that England picks up the pace, preventing anymore conversation between them. They finally arrive at a great wooden structure with a giant open center and three galleries surrounding it. A stage thrusts out from one side and the rest of the yard is wide open, a considerable crowd starting to gather within. England drops two English pennies in a box at the entrance but does not move towards the crowd but rather towards another door. He pays another two English pennies, holding onto Alfred as if he is some sort of naughty child that might run off. And still they are going to yet another door.

Here England pauses and finally releases Alfred almost cautiously, speaking low to the man at the door while he hands him what most definitely is more than just a couple of English pennies. "You have taken care of all of the arrangements for me?"

"Aye, Lord Kirkland. The area is blocked off for you. Shall I be expecting anyone in particular to be joining you?" Curiosity sparks in the man's eyes despite himself.

"That will not be necessary. I...wish to go examine it briefly. Please keep an eye on that one behind me and alert me immediately if he tries to get away. I will be back down in just a moment."

The man looks at Alfred, who raises his eyebrows and grins. "As you wish, my Lord."

He lets England through but stops America. "What's the deal?"

"You are to stay here until Lord Kirkland comes for you. Now wait."

America scowls at the closed door and crosses his arms. What is all this about anyway? Stupid... Arthur is an ass.

England makes his way up the stairs, through the various boxes. Here there are not only places to sit but also cushions. High ladies hiding their identities with masks glance his way while Lords and gentry in fine clothes eat and drink heartily. Towards the end of the row a curtain has been put up, as he requested. It does not matter if someone is to glance across the way, he simply does not want anyone trying to sit down.

Pushing the curtain aside England steps inside the space, and suddenly the air is filled with the scent of apples, sweet grass, dew drops, and wild flowers. Two figures wait in the box. King Oberon, sleek and sharp with strong features and arrogant bone structure. Upon his head sits a crown of great ram horns. Beside him is Queen Mab, the vision of a perfect summer's day. Upon her brow is a simple ringlet of small roses. Both are dressed more finely than any of the bawdy Nobles could hope to be, their clothes carefully spun of spider silk, moss, and fine gauze.

Oberon will not rise to greet him, and Mab waits for him to come to her. He bows low on one knee to each of them. "My Lord, my Lady. As ever I am honored to be in your presence."

Oberon raises his chin and smiles haughtily. "Indeed, young Arthur. It is always pleasing to see your fresh face. Arise."

Arthur stands and goes to Queen Mab, once more bowing his head to kiss her outstretched hand. "You are as radiant as ever."

"Only that?" She caresses his cheek.

"That and more," he adds quickly. "Please forgive me for taking so long. There was something I had to retrieve."

"It is nothing," she says, slipping her arms around his shoulders. She is taller than him, taller even than Alfred stands. Almost as tall as Oberon, if he ever deigned to stand. "I am quite interested to see this work. If this mortal knows what is good for him, he won't have made fools of our likeness."

Oberon speaks, voice bright. "Oh, I hope quite the opposite. I am eager to see how bold this creature is in writing us."

The topic is moving forward quickly and England gently tries to reign it back. "We shall all see for ourselves soon enough. I...have brought someone with me. I must keep an eye on him. I will have him sit in the corner and you may both ignore him completely."

"And shall you ignore us?" the Queen's voice is like the deep chill of a river.

"Never, dear Lady. If you wish for me to speak, I shall at your command. I shall fetch him by your leave alone."

This seems to satisfy her and Oberon is indifferent. "Go then, retrieve him."

England bows slightly as she withdraws her arms from around him and he passes through the curtain again. He takes a deep breath as he does. In no way does he dislike the King and Queen of the faerie court but both are dangerously fickle. For William's sake he hopes the man hasn't bungled the whole thing in his play.

~.

America follows Arthur, slightly irritated. No matter how much he nags the other man seems determined to ignore any questions on just what the hell took so long. What, did he have to examine the cushions for perfect stitching craftsmanship?

As they reach the curtained off area England pauses. "I expect you to sit down at the end, as far down as you can get. Do not sit down anywhere else. I recommend you don't even speak. Just sit down and watch the play."

"You have serious control issues, you know that Arthur?" When England's hard look doesn't waver he rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine! Be all weird and don't even try to give an explanation why."

"Make sure you do as I say." With that England steps passed the curtain and America follows him. He's almost tempted to throw himself down immediately just to irritate England but doesn't feel like getting bitched out.

"Mm, it smells good in here." Like potpourri or some fancy candle or something.

"Sit," England says sharply.

"I'm not a dog!" He meets England's glare for a long moment then takes a seat when he finally feels like it.

Arthur sits stiffly between his royal guests and Alfred. It does not stop Queen Mab from looking him over. "Are you terribly attached to him, my dearest Arthur? He looks like fun to play with. A dab of my ointment in his eye and..."

Oberon's words come off as casual but authoritative. "I think, my Queen, you have enough mortal lovers. And have you not already payed your tithe to Hell? What do you need him for? Besides, I find his voice unpleasing to the ear."

England is infinitely relieved that their argument is interrupted before it can really begin as a man walks out onto the stage, voice booming. Oblivious to the conversation that has just taken place about him, America leans forward and listens. Even he has to acknowledge there's something kind of cool about seeing a legit Shakespeare play. And as they begin he immediately remembers how incredibly boring he thinks it is. It's no good until things get all mucked up with the fairy magic or whatever.

On the verge of drifting off, even with the arrival of Puck and everything, America suddenly notices England has gotten very tense beside him. There's no way he can know how stormy the mood has become with the icy silence of Queen Mab, not helped by Oberon's roaring laughter as the plot unfolds, his counterpart making a fool of his lady love on the stage. "You alright, Arthur?"

England flinches, as if the words almost broke a delicate piece of glass. "Fine."

"Ookay. Just making sure." America tries watching the play some more then starts looking around. It's actually more interesting to watch the audience. The people on the ground level, the poor people he supposes, laugh at strange lines and seem to be having a lot more fun overall. He kind of wishes he was down there instead. The mood is getting weird up here.

His attention returns to the stage as a young boy comes out in a dress and starts reciting lines. "Why do all the actors have to be men?"

Another flinch. "It's illegal for women to be on stage. That would just be lewd."

"That's ridiculous. It'd be much more appealing with actual women." He should know.

England gives him a ghost of a smile. "How very scandalous of you to suggest."

"Eeh, what's the worst that could happen? Would it put a pox upon everyone's house?" He laughs at the very thought of it.

"It's just the way things... Yes, I'm sure they picked the prettiest man they possibly could to play you." England says suddenly, the second half more mumbled than anything.

America blinks. "What?"

"What." England looks at him, daring him to question the statement.

America slowly looks back at the stage. That... was kind of weird. He frowns but keeps his eyes forward. At least things are better now, Titania finally cursed or whatever and tripping over "herself" for the actor with a head of an ass. He doesn't say anything but he can't help but notice England making quiet comments that are in no way directed at him. What is up with-

Oh. Oh man, of course! That is just the most hilarious, slightly adorable thing ever. England has imaginary friends even now. Pft, acting all badass when he probably throws tea parties for his little fairy friends. The matter settled in his mind, Alfred no longer lets it bother him and drifts in and out of the play.

America suddenly shivers and turns to England. "Is it just me or has it suddenly gotten a little chilly?"

England glances at Queen Mab, who is watching the play with a seething expression. It seems to be too much for her to see herself submit to the Oberon in the play, especially after he has made a total fool of her character. Oberon looks utterly enthralled. "...I have no idea what you could possibly mean."

Finally the final act comes, there is the play within the play, and the faerie folk speak their final words, ending with Puck's monologue, the actor's voice strong and confident. "If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend: And, as I am an honest Puck, If we have unearned luck Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue, We will make amends ere long; Else the Puck a liar call; So, good night unto you all. Give me your hands, if we be friends, And Robin shall restore amends."

Even as others begin to applaud and call out Mab is standing, laughing sharply. "Oh, so he does not mean offense? I shall certainly not pardon such mockery! Never have I been so offended in my life!"

Oberon yawns. "You take yourself far too seriously, my Queen. I thought it quite entertaining."

America finishes clapping and turns to England. "So what'd you-"

England reaches over and grabs his arm tightly, squeezing hard. "Sh. Stop talking and don't move."

"Wha-"

"Sh!"

England is so stiff, so apprehensive, that Alfred sinks back, staring at him with a baffled expression. How can he know that only a few feet from him an unearthly Queen is in a terrible wrath? Mab is pacing, further antagonized by the continued applause. "This man shall suffer for his insolence! Soon enough I shall make him pay... Trade his son's life for my stolen dignity! Come Oberon, away!"

Queen Mab vanishes on a violent summer breeze that frankly startles the shit out of Alfred. Oberon laughs merrily and stands, majestic in his full height. "She is a hellfire, dearest Mab. Thank you for the entertainment, Arthur. Come visit our court soon. Perhaps we can finally tempt you to eat something."

King Oberon departs on a much more friendly breeze that lightly ruffles their hair then quiets. Arthur lets out a slow breath, releasing Alfred's arm. "It's alright now."

"Oookay. Was that some sort of crazy breeze or what?" He runs a hand through his hair. "So what did you think?"

"I think I need a drink." England stands, glancing down at the stage for a moment. "Poor man. It was not the wisest choice of content. Damn good play, though."

A drink, maybe that means he can get some food. America is determined to be much more careful with alcohol this time around. "It was alright. I like the bits with the fairies mostly. The rest of it is pretty boring. Plus I never have any idea what anyone is talking about."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," England says, still a bit preoccupied with the reaction of his royal guests. It is a shame that Mab had been so determined to see this.

America frowns. He hates that England thinks he's nothing but an idiot. He tries to remember something smart he's heard about the play. "Uh...well... I think it was also interesting how Shakespeare sort of made commentary on the whole process of putting on plays with the play within the play that summed up stuff in the play itself."

England pauses at the curtain and looks at Alfred thoughtfully. "That was rather poorly said but I am impressed you picked up on it. I will have to watch this again. I was too apprehensive to fully appreciate it."

"What was that all about anyway? Seriously, you were so stiff the whole time. You have to take a piss or something?"

Arthur scowls at him, clearly losing any esteem he might have stocked in Alfred for his former comment. "No! It's nothing you have to worry about."

Maybe England was having a lover's spat with his imaginary friends. "Fine, be that way. It's not like you'll have to worry about it anyway. You're gonna get to see this play for forever."

England raises an eyebrow. "You think it's good enough to last so long? I thought you weren't that impressed."

Oops. That had kind of slipped. "Uh, I mean... Well, Shakespeare's work strikes me as something that's going to last. Call it a hunch."

"You think so? He's not bad. I do rather like some of his plays. But you think he'll be the one to last?"

America is somewhat surprised. Arthur loves to brag about Shakespeare, totally champions him in the present. So what's with this nay saying? "Sure! In fact, I pretty much know so."

England is mostly curious why Alfred seems so sure when he doesn't even seem that interested in theater. "And why him over Marlowe, Jonson, Beaumont, or even Fletcher? They're all great playwrights."

"Who...? Look, I bet you...uh... some large amount of money that he totally will! I swear, even like, over four hundred years from now they'll still be putting on his stuff."

England laughs. "Quite confident in yourself. And how will you be able to collect even if you are right? You'll be long dead by then."

"I dunno, doesn't matter. I'm right." Of course he is. Sure that makes it cheating that he's from the future but it's true and he savors being right around this arrogant prick.

"I see." England smirks. "Then sometime 'over four hundred years from now', if you are right, I will throw 'some large amount of money' into the ocean if I can be bothered to recall this. Sound fair?"

America almost misses the last step on the staircase and has to steady himself against the wall. Throwing money in the ocean for a bet... That date on England's calender that he had been all weird and secretive about... "You remembered."

England pauses and turns to look at him curiously. "Remembered what?"

"Ah... I- I mean you had better remember that! Because the idea of you tossing money into the ocean is just so hilarious!" He laughs but he's still shocked. Why would England remember such a stupid little bet made a little over four hundred years ago?

England clasps him on the back as they make their way from the theater, mostly to keep him from bolting. "Shall do, lad. Now let us see about that drink and see if I can't get more information out of you."

America hesitates. Maybe he should actually take this more seriously. Maybe he should be responsible, think things through and- Nah, that's boring. He'll go with the flow. "You won't get a thing from me!"

"Your secrecy only makes you more alluring," England says bluntly. At this point America isn't a throwaway conquest so much as a puzzle he's obsessed with solving.

"Gross," America says, making a face.

"You weren't complaining last time," England almost purrs, enjoying the flustered blush that comes to America's cheeks.

"Be quiet, no one asked you!" That's not fair, he was drunk at the time, a victim of date rape!

England chuckles, settling his hand on the back of Alfred's neck and steering him forward. Even if he can't get more information he has full intention of getting another taste of Alfred himself.

* * *

**Terminology**:

Egg-shell – Worthless thing

Cutpurse – Pickpocket

Get thee hence – Get out of here

Snipes – Fools

Grammarcy – Thank you

Good marrow – Good day

Fortnight – About fourteen days

Whoreson – Fellow, dog

**Research Notes: **

England's relationships with his brothers at the time (kindly provided by my friend):

Wales: England had them since the 1200s.  
Scotland: Not owned by England, they had their own monarchy and proved a pain in the neck. Scotland wouldn't be joined in a union with England until 1707.  
Ireland: Were in the middle of working on conquests of it.

Midsummer's Night Dream: This play is thought to have been first performed somewhere between 1594 and 1596. Obviously I put it in 1595. It was performed first in The Theater (where Al and Artie saw it) then was later performed at The Globe.

Queen Mab and King Oberon (because why not): Mab, queen of the fairies. She was thought to be beautiful, seductive, cold, and deadly. She is said to have payed tithe to Satan, supposedly sacrificing her mortal lovers for this cause. Oberon, king of the fairies. In my mind he will always be a sexy black man (because of the version I saw performed).

Dab of ointment in the eye: This might be more of an Irish thing but whatev. A dab of a special ointment in the eye would allow mortals to see fairies and their magic, which was usually not a good thing in the least.

Puck's monologue: Shakespeare's plays were actually written on the fly, so I'm sure his monologue wouldn't have been this perfect at this stage but surely no one is that picky.

Hamnet: Shakespeare's son, Hamnet, died at the age of 11 on August 11, 1596. I have no idea how Mab knew he had a son. Because she's cool like that.

Get Arthur to eat something: Again, this might be more Irish. Eating faerie food leads to eternal captivity in the faerie realm.

Playwrights: Christopher Marlowe, Ben Jonson, Francis Beaumont, John Fletcher were all famous playwrights around the same time of Shakespeare. Christopher Marlowe is even said by some people to be the true writer of Shakespeare's plays.


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys, sorry for the super long delay on this. I hit a really bad snag on this chapter and it took me a long time to figure out exactly where I was going/how I was going to go about the chapter. -sighs-

Thanks for your patience, I am unworthy!

* * *

After walking a ways (and feeling like a dog on a leash with England holding onto him the whole time) England finally takes Alfred into a pub. He notices it is the one he was brought to when he was first looking for Arthur. He also notices not everyone who is sitting around is happy to see him. They're probably just sore about his laying them down last time. He gives them all cheerful smiles and waves.

England walks past all of them without a glance then shoves him into the back room. "Stay here a moment, poppet."

He closes the door, leaving America to his own devices. He looks around the room. It is a bit messy but not overly so. There's a desk shoved to the back that has papers sticking out of the drawers and is covered in things like inkwells and books. America examines it for a moment but doesn't see anything that particularly catches his attention.

He walks over to the wall and looks over the faded parchment that has the map on it. So much of it is uncharted and different from modern maps. And to think it _is_ a modern map in this time period. His fingers trace over the mysterious lump that constitutes as the New World. So much has yet to happen. A wave of nostalgia washes over him.

What if Alfred says one little sentence? Can he change the outcome of everything? 'Don't always cry because your food sucks.' Or even 'Treat the child a little better.' America quickly withdraws his hand from the map. That is a dangerous way to think. He isn't here to change the past, he's here to... Actually he's not sure why he's here. Because he's fulfilling what has already happened in England's personal time line? Who knows. He's here and it's an adventure.

The door opens again and he glances over as England walks in with two large mugs. He sets one on the table then immediately takes a long drink from the other. America walks over and takes the other glass. He must remember to watch how much he consumes. The last thing he needs is a repeat of last time.

Taking a seat, America has a sip before putting it aside. England drums his fingers over the table as he studies the other blond then takes another drink. "Tell me, Alfred. What am I to make of you? You will not tell me where you are from. You claim not to be a spy but you disappear into thin air then reappear from nowhere. I know not who you are or what your purpose is."

There's a pause and America finally decides some sort of response is desired. "Well isn't it the mystery that makes me so darn interesting?"

Or alluring, as England had put it.

England slowly raises one of those majestically thick eyebrows of his. "Indeed. Are you saying I am better off not knowing anything?"

When England says it like that it almost seems like a threat. "Nah, there's uh, just nothing that interesting about me." As if, he's one of the most interesting people ever. "I'm sure you would be bored."

England almost snorts and leans his chin on one hand. Somehow that seems highly unlikely. After a moment he reaches out across the table. "Give me your hand."

What, is he going to read his palm and see into his past? "Why?"

"Just give it to me." England's tone comes off sharper and America warily offers one hand. England turns it so the palm is facing up and uncurls his fingers. He brushes a thumb over the skin, running it up one of his fingers and lightly rubbing the tip. "I would say that you come from a well off family from the state of your health, yet your hands have callouses. Perhaps you have fallen in status or else you were either made to work or have a physical hobby."

England glances up at America, who is watching him curiously. "I also have my doubts of your upbringing as your education seems lacking."

"It is not!" Considering his grasp of information that doesn't even exist in this century, he's technically smarter than England right now.

"As you say. Perhaps your education is different than what I would expect due to your being a foreigner. Yet your accent is not quite like anything I have heard. It seems well enough grounded in English but something about it is off." More clumsy and lazy, but lacking the usual sound of a foreign tongue. The inability to pin his accent is perhaps one of the must infuriating things about Alfred. After all, England has heard his fair share of accents.

America merely shrugs and takes another drink. Technically his early education came from England himself but no need to complicate matters further.

Half of England's mouth slides into a smirk. "You truly do not have much to say about yourself, do you? There are other ways I can find out about you."

There's a knock at the door and England releases America's hand with a final caress. "Enter."

One of England's men comes in with a rope and a lit pipe, both of which he hands to England. After taking a puff of the pipe he nods his head. "That is all."

The man gives America a sour look then leaves the room, shutting the door too hard behind him. England frowns then takes another drag off the pipe, exhaling slowly. He sets the rope down on the table. "Tie a knot."

What is this? America is a bit weary of the command but does as he asks. It's not like he's never tied a knot. Does he think he's so stupid he can't even do that? He ties a basic knot and tosses it back onto the table. Mission accomplished.

England looks it at a moment, blowing a smoke ring. "Hm."

"Hm? What's wrong with it?" It's not like there's a science to tying a knot.

"Nothing, really. Is it the best you can do?"

"The best I can do?" America frowns at him. He wonders how England would feel if he were to jump over the table, pin him, then hog tie him. Perhaps he's looking too amused over the idea because England's expression darkens. He finally shrugs. "Maybe not."

Taking the rope back, America unties it and thinks for a moment. Rather than coming up with a solid idea his hands start to move on their own and a few moments later he's showing off a dutch knot. "Better?"

England takes it back and looks it over. He scowls when he realizes it's Dutch. That bastard Holland thinks he's so great he even claims his knots are better. Carefully setting down his pipe, England unfastens the knot and starts to tie something similar with the main distinction being it's not Dutch. He sets it down on the table. "A Bowline knot. I can guarantee that will save your life if you are ever sailing and have to fasten yourself down."

"I bet I can tie something even tighter." America grins mischievously and takes the rope back, untying the knot. It is pretty tight and there's no doubt it would hold under most circumstances. Once it's loose again he ties another simple knot, tightening it as hard as he possibly can. He passes it back to England. "There you go."

England lifts the rope and stares at it, taking a slow drag from the pipe as he inspects it. He blows out then grips the pipe in his teeth as he experimentally runs the rope through his fingers, feeling it out. It will have to be cut if there's any hope of undoing it. England carefully puts the pipe down again. "You are quite strong, aren't you? Impressive."

Damn straight he is. "Thanks!"

England starts twisting the other side of the rope, looping it and coiling it. "Would you like to see my favorite sort of knot?"

America leans in, vaguely curious. "What might that be?"

England gives a final little tug then holds it up, allowing it to hang suggestively. "The hangman's knot."

A noose. Why is that no surprise? "Am I being threatened for tying a tighter knot than you?"

"Not at all," England says. "I am merely sharing an interest in knots with you. Care to try it on for size?"

"I think I'm fine, thanks." Such a creep. America might be a great deal more disturbed if he knew what is running through England's mind; such lovely visions of Alfred all tied up. "Actually, I'll show you something similar that's a personal favorite of mine."

England seems to consider it then hands him the noose, which America disassembles with great haste. With a few tugs he transforms it instead into a lasso. Not one of proper size. There's simply not enough rope. "What do you think of that?"

England looks it over, not quite impressed. "And what is that good for?"

"This? It's great for rounding things up. Like if you're trying to wrangle up a horse."

The boy's use of the word is strange to England but then again he hardly expects him to do anything correctly. Still, it gives him another snippet of information. "You have worked with horses?"

"Ah..." Well, there are horses in this time period. In fact, they are abundant. "Yep, I have! Did it for a long time, actually."

"I see. Interesting. You enjoyed the work?"

"Of course! I love horses. They're great. Some of them can be more loyal than dogs. And I'll tell you what, there is nothing better than riding a horse bareback at a full gallop. Feels like you're flying." He closes his eyes, expression becoming warm with fond memories from when the West had been much less tame. It wasn't the same anymore. Wild horses were sort of over and done with. As were free wide open spaces.

Alfred is given a start when something strokes against his cheek. His eyes flash open and England smirks at him, thumb rubbing lightly over his lower lip before he pulls back. "Like freedom."

"Ah... yeah. Like freedom."

England stands, walking around the table. "Do you work with horses for your own enjoyment or at the employment of another?"

"I've done both." It had been too sad when his own horses had finally died to get more.

America expects England to stop by him or behind him but instead walks past him completely. He turns to follow his progress. England stops in front of the map and glances back at him. "Come over here, Alfred."

America takes another drink and gets up. England remains looking at the map and so America turns his attention to that as well. "Have you ever sailed?"

"Mm? Yeah, I've done that, too." Though he has never been as fond of sailing as other modes of transportation.

"I thought as much. I am quite fond of the sea." England glances at him. "Sometimes your eyes make me think of it on a very clear day. Where have you been?"

America stares at the map. He's been to all of these places at one point or another. Maybe he hasn't sailed to get to them but... He shrugs. "Here and there."

England pushes him closer to the map. "Take a look, Alfred, and tell me where you are from."

America wonders if it will be funny if he says somewhere from mystic Asia. Throw him off a bit. England presses up against his back, fingers caressing Alfred's jaw then tightening on his chin to keep his gaze from wandering. "I just wish to know where you are from. What is the harm in that?"

Maybe it will be funnier if he just goes completely limp and falls back on England. "What's the harm in not knowing?"

There is a quiet 'tsk' from Arthur and then the man is speaking softly against his ear. "Are you from the North?"

America shakes his head and England lightly bites his earlobe. "No? Then perhaps..." He sets a hand on Alfred's stomach and slides it down, letting it rub lightly along the waist of his pants. "Lower?"

America tenses. "Er, technically I guess-"

"Somewhere near that Prussian bastard? Somewhere around the Netherlands? They do get around." England's hand slides into America's pants and he jerks back, body pressing against England's. "Not French I've gathered."

"Cut it out!" America grabs England's arm.

England bites his earlobe more sharply. "I would be happy to stop as soon as you tell me where you are from." He gives America a squeeze, liking the tinge of color that comes to his cheeks. "Now make your choice like a good lad."

"What kind of choice is that?" He starts to drag England's arm away and hastily relaxes his grip as the other gives a forceful squeeze. "And would you stop taking my dick hostage?"

England strokes him lazily, laughing. "Is that what you call it?"

America is about to ask why he wouldn't call it that when England strokes him faster, sending a shiver through him. "Stop it already!"

"Sh, might want to keep your voice down, love. Now, look at the map and say where you are from and, as I said, I will be more than happy to stop. However, if you are going to be stubborn about giving me the information I want then I shall simply take something else." He starts a steady rhythm, smirking as he feels Alfred reacting to the stimulation.

America stares at the map stubbornly, jaw clenched to keep from moaning. England presses a kiss just below his ear. "Perhaps you prefer this, is that it?"

"Don't be so full of yourself," America says, proud of how evenly his voice comes out.

England frowns and gives him a few rapid strokes that he's not expecting. Something between a gasp and a moan escapes America and he puts an arm up beside the map to steady himself. "You seem to be enjoying it, anyway. But if you insist... Tell me. Surely there is somewhere on this map you have called home at some point."

Home? America refocuses on the map, trying to ignore the growing heat in his groin. "...England."

Arthur's hand pauses, though he does not remove it. "England?"

"A long time ago, yes." Once upon a time a certain individual who is actually the biggest ass in the world had been someone he considered 'home'.

England presses his lips to Alfred's neck, looking at the map thoughtfully. It would explain why his English is so solid. If he travels around a lot that might have ruined it. He's worked with horses and has sailed. Arthur had been hoping he would be able to peg him if he saw what kind of knots Alfred knows but he seems to have a wide range of those, too. Exotic but familiar. He can't figure him out.

"Oh? Then I take it the one who has shielded you is family?"

Oh, this is a good time to make something up, actually. He suddenly gets the brilliant idea of using Arthur himself as his 'defender'. How can he find someone if he is that person? "Nah, not quite." That's always a gray area. Even as a child England hadn't wanted him to call him his brother but rather by his country name. Taking his independence had widened the gap. "More like... a long time..." Acquaintance? Friend? "Person whose played a lot of different roles in my life."

"Oh?" Different roles? "So you are close to this person."

"Well, yeah, I guess so. He's protecting me right?" Isn't that sort of a given?

"And just who is 'he'?"

Is England ever taking his hand out of his pants? "I won't give a full name, but interestingly enough he shares the name Arthur with you."

England's eyes narrow. "Is that so? And he cares for you?"

America completely misunderstands what England is implying by that. "Sure. Does stuff for me all the time. Tries to feed me but his cooking is kind of terrible. He took care of me for a while, actually."

So this other man is infatuated with Alfred. Whoever he may be and no matter his position, England can trump anything he can offer Alfred. And he'll make sure the boy knows it. "And do you care for him?"

America blinks and laughs. He has to take care of his ass whenever he gets drunk, that's for sure. "Well not usually, but sometimes I do."

America gasps loudly as England grabs him again then uses his palm to press slow circles against him. Alfred is _his, _damn it! He absolutely refuses to surrender him until he's had his fill, even if it's to someone who has known Alfred far longer.

"H-hey, you said you would stop!" America bites his lower lip to muffle a moan.

"So long as you are all ready to go, poppet, why not take advantage of the fact?" His tongue trails up Alfred's neck, slowly circling beneath his jaw before he starts to suck.

America flushes. "You are such a-"

England grinds against him, giving his neck a nip. "Is the resistance part of the thrill for you or are you just particularly annoying?"

"Sh-shut up." America starts to breathe harder as England continues to rub and stroke him, his hips eventually betraying him as they try to move in time with his hand. He flinches as his mouth is suddenly invaded by fingers.

England smirks and rests his chin on Alfred's shoulder. "Last time you insisted on special treatment. I take it you want it this time, too?"

Special treatment? It should be common courtesy! Okay, so maybe there are the special occasions where there's simply no time but that's beside the point entirely. Alfred bites his fingers then sucks around them, teeth still digging into the skin. Two can do this playing hostage thing. Running his tongue along the fingers a few time he finally bites down a little harder before releasing them.

England quickly pulls his fingers from the other's mouth. America almost expects to be reprimanded but instead the other lets out a rumbling chuckle. He grinds against Alfred a few times as he loosens his pants then slides them down his hips.

America knows what's coming and tries to relax. This is seriously happening again. And to think he once thought Arthur didn't have a sex drive. He tries very hard to ignore the fact that his heart is pounding in what seems suspiciously like anticipation if he thinks about it too long.

England shushes him as he grunts, the first finger entering. He nuzzles Alfred's neck, sucking softly on his earlobe. "Remember to keep quiet. We hardly want anyone hearing, do we?"

"Oh no, I was quite hoping we would get a regular audience. When they ask what in God's name we're thinking we can tell them it's a play and that if women were allowed to act they wouldn't have to see two men going at it."

"You are a saucy little thing. I am sure God is quite mortified." There is not much conviction in his words but he is impressed at his level of blasphemy.

America can't help but grin, almost laughing until England presses a second finger in. He hisses instead, the amusement going out of him almost completely. That stings. He grits his teeth and leans heavily against the wall as England stretches him without much tenderness. At least he has started stroking him again, which takes his mind off of the discomfort somewhat.

England kisses Alfred's back even though he probably can't feel it through the shirt. Is this the shirt he gave to him? It might very well be the entire outfit he gave him. Such things are hardly interesting in light of what he's about to do and the thought quickly slips away.

It's almost a relief when England finally pulls his fingers out but America knows it will only last a few moments. He feels him struggling behind him, probably to get his own pants down. Sure enough after a small grunt of frustration, there is the sensation of something much more invasive than fingers pressing against him.

There is suddenly hot breath against his ear, and a voice laden with lust fills his head. "Ready, Alfred?"

Before he can even answer Arthur presses in. America gasps and his free hand shoots up, pressing against the wall on the other side of the map to steady himself. His nails scrape against the wood as he tries to adjust to the sudden invasion. England steadies his hip and pulls him closer, kissing his jaw breathily. "Even better than I remember."

He finally pulls his hand from Alfred's pants and grabs his other hip, fingers pressing in to leave more pretty bruises. Giving him barely a moment to get used to it, England begins to rock his hips, pressing his mouth to the crook of the other's neck.

America takes deep breaths, slowly moving his body with England's when he can take it. At least this time he isn't so drunk he can't even control himself. He just hopes that it stops hurting soon. He doesn't have sex often enough to just jump into things like this and he sure as hell doesn't bottom often enough for this kind of treatment.

Gradually the pain burns into a general heat that begins to resemble something like pleasure. America pants softly, pressing back onto England. That seems to excite the sadist, who pulls him down harder as his hips press up. America bites back a groan, wriggling his hips provocatively. This position actually allows a lot more control than he'd had the first time and he thoroughly uses it to his advantage.

Somewhat annoyed at not having full control over the other's actions, England bites his neck. Why won't he stop wiggling around? Admittedly it feels good but it also makes it harder to set the pace. One of his hands migrates from America's hip to cover a hand on the wall. He laces his fingers between Alfred's and squeezes.

Alfred moans softly, only now remembering England's biting obsession. Hopefully he won't have to tell him to stop that shit again. The thought is cut off as England strikes a particularly pleasant spot. He bucks back against him hard. "Ah- Arthur, there, right there!"

"Sh, sh. Hush now, love," England purrs, not even trying to disguise how smug he is. "I will make this feel very good for you, but I want you to do me a little favor."

America makes an annoyed sound as he tries to get England to hit that spot again on his own. "Mm?"

"Look at the map." England presses his cheek to Alfred's. "Come now, look at it."

"I'm looking at it," America says in a distracted, somewhat annoyed tone. It's not like he hasn't been staring at this map for the last gajillion minutes. What more does the bastard want?

England's voice is husky and it's not hard to tell how much the thought turns him on when he murmurs, "Keep your eyes on England."

And England says he's a narcissist! "Fine! I'm looking. My god, the majesty of your land ma-ah-mmm, again, do that again!"

England gladly complies, thrusting roughly into Alfred. To his benefit, America does do his best to keep his focus on the stupid map. More specifically on the drawn lines that form the country who is currently plowing him. It becomes a bit difficult as they begin to blur in his vision.

As much as England loves and wants to mercilessly tease Alfred indefinitely, this is hardly the place. He's already making too much noise and no matter who Arthur is, it is best for him to keep all of his affairs private. His lips ghost across Alfred's cheek as his other hand moves down to stroke him, hard and fast.

America's nails claw against the wood again, England's hand squeezing down on his either in a gesture of shared pleasure or warning. He bites his lip hard as his climax hits, body tensing violently a few times before relaxing. His entire body tingles and his knees feel weak. He has to concentrate to remain standing as England continues to thrust into him.

England hugs Alfred's waist and holds him close as he finishes, rocking with him through the aftershocks. Once they slow to a stop he presses his forehead to his shoulder, nuzzling it lightly. The two stand pressed together, heartbeats slowing to a normal rate. When he feels more steady England finally pulls away, hand sliding up Alfred's arm as he does so. He fixes his pants in silence then walks over to the desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a piece of cloth. America straightens slowly, an ache shooting down his lower back and cutting through the left over glow.

As he hisses England hands him the rag. "You can use this to clean up. Feel free to finish off both cups of ale. It should help with the pain."

"Oh, suddenly you care?" America starts to wipe himself off.

"I am wounded by your accusation that I have never cared." There is not nearly enough offense in England's tone for that to be convincing.

"Excuse me if I hardly got the impression when you threaten to blow my head off at the drop of a hat." America pulls his pants back up and gives the map a dirty look.

"If you are a spy or someone who will cause me unnecessary grief then it is my responsibility. Surely you understand."

"Well I'm not a spy but I will have you know that all the grief I cause you is very necessary." America shoots England a snarky grin despite another twinge of pain.

England picks up his pipe and frowns as he sees it has gone out. He puts it down and regards Alfred dryly. "I will try to keep that in mind next time I am tempted to blow your head off."

"Please do." America makes his way back to the table and downs the rest of his drink and then England's. If he has to walk anywhere, which is pretty likely, he'll want the buzz.

England looks him over, loving his ruffled appearance. He's learned quite a bit about Alfred, but like any truly tantalizing puzzle each answer has only raised more questions. No matter how long it takes he intends to figure him out completely. And perhaps for the sheer sport of it he will attempt to steal the boy's heart from his unknown rival. Yes, that does sound quite fun.

America is, as per usual, utterly oblivious to the intentions of those around him.

* * *

**Notes:**

Knots – The Bowline knot and the Dutch Bowline knot are fairly similar in what they are intended for and capable of. There are minor differences and of course, according to the Dutch, their knot works better. Both are good for securing things and holding even under stress. The noose is of course the noose. The lasso actually has a noose like knot in the fact that it can also tighten, though it is not intended for hanging someone like the noose is. It is/was most common in the West of the U.S. as it was used heavily for wrangling and roping even became a bit of an art form. However it was also used in Mexico for wrangling, in Finland for wrangling Reindeer, and in Ancient Egypt.

Wrangle – England's confusion comes from the fact that America is referring to wrangling in the sense of capturing horses/cows/what have you. Back then it meant something more along the lines of 'to wrestle' which is usually not something you do with rope.

Dick – The early meaning of dick meant fellow or lad. So the joke is that to England, it sounds like America is saying something along the lines of 'Stop taking my lad hostage!' So in other words... it's a penis joke.

Saucy – While I generally use saucy to mean something that is sexy/sexual (I.e. contains saucy content), around that time and quite a ways afterwards it meant something more along the lines of 'impertinent' or 'cheeky'.

**AN: **America getting sexed up while being forced to stare at a map is much sexier to me than I think it should be. Also both past and present England being jealous of each other and in competition with one another without realizing they're jealous of themselves just cracks me up so much. (Alfred being more than a little oblivious to either of their intentions is the cherry on top).

A useful word origin dictionary to check when words came into use/how they were once used:

www(.)etymonline(.)com/index(.)php


	11. Chapter 11

Wow it has been a really long time, huh? I am very sorry about that and thank you for your patience! Thank you for your lovely and kind reviews as well. They and some encouraging probing from a few individuals have finally gotten me to write this chapter out at long last.

* * *

After coaxing another round of ale out of England, America has enough of a buzz that the pain caused by the royal ass is bearable. There's also the comfort that his rapid healing rate will make this end fairly soon. England has gone surprisingly quiet. Probably plotting more ways he can get off to himself vicariously through another person. Making someone stare at a map during sex, so narcissistic. And England wonders where he gets it from.

England's fingers trace lightly over the rope. Although he's still determined to figure Alfred out, part of that is now dedicated to how he is going to use this acquired knowledge to seduce the lad. There is no way someone else can possibly compete with him. Not when he's determined. England has acquired a taste for getting what he wants after all, and he would hate to break this trend.

Determining they have spent enough time in this place, England stands. "We will be leaving now. Come along, Alfred."

America is only too glad to be leaving. "Can we get something to eat, then? I'm starving!"

Giving Alfred a quick look over, it is hard for England to believe that Alfred has been starving a day in his life. Dramatic little thing. That is alright, England doesn't mind a little dramatic language. "It has been quite the exciting day for you, I am sure. Very well, I'll arrange for food."

They make their way towards England's house, America making a very conscious effort to keep his stride smooth. Laying down sounds nice about now but he can take it. Besides, it's not like he's going to give England that satisfaction. Goodness knows he's smug enough as it is. Big smug-faced jerk.

Despite Alfred's negative perception, England remains rather pleasant to him on the way back. He keeps the conversation to light topics that contain subtle inquiries into more personal details about Alfred. The more he knows about him the better, after all.

Upon entering the house England looks Alfred's disheveled appearance over more critically. "How about we get you some fresh clothing before I see to dinner? You may properly clean up and rest while you wait."

America pauses, a little taken aback that he's being so hospitable and something close to nice. Then he shrugs it off. Free food is free food after all, and he is pretty inclined towards clean clothes. "Sounds good to me!"

Lips tugging up in a slight smile, England nods and leads him forward. America follows after, abruptly realizing that he'll be eating England's cooking. He sighs to himself. Oh well, at this point he's hungry enough it doesn't matter.

They enter a room and England opens a wardrobe, pulling clothes from it. He holds a few things up, scowling at them as he judges their worthiness, then tosses them here or there. Finally he brings a shirt up and holds it against Alfred, nodding with a pleased expression on his face. "Yes this will do nicely. It compliments your eyes."

For a brief moment he looks up to meet Alfred's eyes, expression mildly suggestive. America meets his in return, confusion rising over the pause. He tilts his head. "Oh… ok."

England barely restrains himself from snorting as he turns back to the wardrobe. Alfred is completely oblivious. It is charming in its way but… He gathers together a handful of clothing and turns to push them at Alfred. "Very well. Put these things on, then. Anything else you need? If not I will call for you when supper is ready."

As much as America wants a proper bath he knows better than to ask this time around. "I think I can somehow manage myself from here without total disaster following, yeah."

"If you insist." England closes the door behind him and America looks the clothes over.

After a moment of debate he starts going through the rest of the clothes and trades a few items out. Some of it just looks so stupid overall he can hardly believe it. A few items of clothing give him a good laugh. Boy is he sure glad he's never lived through any stupid looking fashion trends! Nope, not a single one, none at all.

After getting himself freshened up, Alfred collapses belly first onto the bed. After pulling a pillow close and making himself comfortable he stares at the room. Great, now what? Just a lot of waiting. He hates waiting so much. For a while he thinks over his Burgerman script and then even that loses its luster. He turns and something digs into his hip.

Making a small grunt of discomfort America reaches down to move it. He pulls the pocket watch up. Strange thing that it is. What's even the point of such a magical item (or whatever it's supposed to be)?

Shifting his position a few times more, America clicks it open and looks the inside over. The hand is about halfway to the six. He dangles it in the air as he examines it a while longer then closes it, holding it lazily in his fist. This is boring.

America abruptly sits up. He's in a different time period in the past around things he has never seen in his whole life! Or at least not when they were brand spanking new. It's a great opportunity to do stuff! Stuff that can only be done in the year 1595! All he needs to do is think of something. Something worthwhile…

~.

When the food has been set out England goes to retrieve Alfred. It's a somewhat light supper but it should be good enough for the glutton. After all, one can only expect so much on such short notice and this has taken longer to arrange than he'd have liked.

The door to the room is still closed and England is admittedly surprised that Alfred has stayed put. In fact he's been worrying over the lad running amok all over the house in a state of boredom. So he has some self-control after all.

England knocks on the door. "Alfred? Alfred, are you ready to eat?"

There's a muffled sound from inside but no response. Frowning slightly, England knocks harder. "Alfred? What are you doing in there?"

When there is still no real response, England senses that something has gone horribly wrong (or else something incredibly foolish is afoot). He tests the doorknob and finds it turns easily. Right, onwards then. He bursts into the room. "Alfred!"

The room is perfectly fine until England's eyes reach the bed. It has been piled high with pillows, blankets, and unknown items that are propping the former items up. For a moment his voice fails him. What is this mess? "Alfred, what has gotten into your head?"

There's some rustling and America's head pops up from between a few pillows. "Hi, Arthur! Like it?"

England has to turn away for a second and ask himself quite earnestly if he truly wants to spend effort on wooing this man. He turns to look at America and is once more charmed by the bright smile that is flashed at him. The annoyance diminishes and he merely scrunches his eyebrows together. "Was this mess necessary?"

"Pretty much. You don't mind right? I mean just look at it!" America laughs happily. He better not mind. This thing is a work of art! Best pillow fort. A fort built in this grand year of 1595!

England reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose, swallowing another small surge of annoyance. "_Charming_. The food is ready and we should get a move on unless you want it all to be cold."

America brightens and squirms his way out of the fort, trying very hard not to knock it all down. Some damage is done as he has more or less barricaded himself within it while building but it is minimal. There's a small pang of pain that shoots through him and he hisses. Shit. This food better be good, Arthur owes him.

As America slips past him England can't help but look back at the jumble of pillows and blankets that will have to be tidied up. And for what? For this child's amusement, honestly. "Is there a point to that?"

"Hmm?" America glances back at him, pausing on one of the stairs.

"That mess back there." Arthur gestures with a slight turn of his head.

America's smile returns again and he laughs. "For fun, of course!"

"Oh, of course, my mistake." The former doubts crawl back in. They are temporarily distracted as he notices that Alfred isn't wearing exactly what he told him to. He follows, looking him up and down. "I see you found some issue with my choices in clothing."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much. I just liked some other stuff better. But I got myself dressed and everything. Aren't you proud?" America's smile turns slightly mocking and England's eyes narrow.

"Dreadfully so."

America throws himself at his chair, more excited about eating than arguing over clothes. That's a topic he'll have many, many fights with England over in the future…America's past… Both. He regrets his hasty movement immediately as pain shoots up his back again. Ouch. Fuck. Why had he done that? He winces and grits his teeth for a moment.

Being far calmer about it and clearly amused, England takes the seat to his right. "Try not to hurt yourself, love."

After making a face at England to let him know what a dick he is for even saying that, America returns his attention to the food. It takes him off guard. All of it actually looks really good and edible. What is this witchcraft?

"Go on, help yourself." England has already started to dish up, looking a bit smug with himself.

Still blown away, America begins to fill a plate with food. After regarding it suspiciously he finally takes a bite; and then another. It's good. It is all legitimately delicious. For a while he does not speak, simply satisfying his hunger. From time to time he makes pleased sounds and England's smugness only grows.

England eats very little, more interested in watching Alfred for a while instead. "You find it to your liking?"

America holds up a finger as he chases a rather large bite with a drink of ale. Rubbing his mouth, he faces England wearing a cheerful expression. "Oh yes! Really good. You had someone else make it, didn't you?"

The flustered look on England's face is quickly masked, but the brief moment it shows is all the proof America needs. It makes him laugh. England's expression immediately sours, voice acquiring an indignant tone. "And what exactly makes you assume such a thing?"

"There is no way you can cook this well and we both know it." America catches himself and hastily adds, "I mean, you gave me breakfast that one time. The quality here is hardly close to that meal. I guess you can say I'm a bit of a food expert. I know my stuff and when another hand has prepared something."

Totally recovering from his blunders like a smooth criminal. Aw yeah.

England stands abruptly. "Think what you like!"

America can't help but smile. He's not sure why England is trying to impress him but it's really funny. "Thanks either way, though. It is good."

England is clearly taken off guard by the compliment and is quick to recover again. But he does seem a little bit pleased again. "Of course it is. Ungrateful little…"

Satisfied with unmasking the fraud, America returns to eating what's left on his plate. He slumps back in his seat and pats his stomach. "Food will always be my favorite thing."

England finds a mark for his revenge and reaches over, pinching Alfred's cheek. "It shows."

"Hey!" America squawks, batting his hand away. "Excuse you!"

"What? It gives you a lovely glow. Do not tell me you are actually sensitive about such a thing. It is a mark of abundance and wealth after all." Despite the mock-soothing words, the sting has marked the full return of England's good mood.

"We can retire to the withdrawing room for now. This mess can also be dealt with later." England gestures grandly, apparently eager to move the conversation onwards while he still has the upper hand.

Puffing out his cheeks, America gives him a look then huffily walks past him. He is not fat. If he is perhaps just the slightest smidgeon chubby then yes, it is a glorious sign of abundance. The beautiful seas of wheat and plentiful fruits, damn it!

America collapses into a very uncomfortable but very fancy chair. England settles down on a couch, making himself comfortable. He slides back into that inquisitive line of casual conversation and for a brief moment America has the worst déjà vu of a conversation he might share with present time Arthur. It's an eerie feeling but not completely uncomfortable.

Tired of dancing around information about himself, America decides to use one of his best cop-out methods towards people who start grilling him: he turns the conversation on the other person. People with big egos love talking about themselves. Alfred knows that well; he loves talking about himself after all!

"You know, I bet you have all sorts of interesting stories about going out to sea. Having daring adventures, seeing exciting places." America gives his best smile of sincerity and interest.

"I suppose I have some." England seems reluctant to leave their current vein of conversation. However, it isn't long before he gives into America's wide-eyed and eager probing. Once he gets going he is just as pleased to talk about himself as America knew he'd be. Score one for Alfred F. Jones!

The bluff soon becomes an actual source of interest to Alfred, who shifts from time to time only to make himself more comfortable in this stupid chair. Arthur really has done a lot, seen a lot: Weathered storms he thought would be the end of him, fought battles that make something crawl inside of Alfred with discomfort, seen wonders that inspired such awe he struggles to articulate them properly. Horrific and beautiful and tragic and fascinating stories all tied together. It's a little difficult to remind himself this is England who has done all these things. And yet from time to time a story strikes a chord with one told to him as a child.

England continues to talk as the sun begins to set. Candles are lit and it pleases him to see Alfred still hanging on his every word. Eventually that begins to waver as he begins to nod off. England knows when to cut himself off. He stands, brushing his fingers through Alfred's thick blond hair. "You certainly have low stamina for one so young. Now, now. No need to make that face. Off to bed with you. To my room. You remember where that is or were you far too intoxicated last time?"

America makes a soft sound of annoyance. "Yeah, I remember. Why do I have to sleep with you, anyway? I can just use the room I was in earlier."

England tugs his hair. "Do you not think as a guest in my home you would do as I ask?"

Hell no. Still, America isn't interested in a fight so much as sleeping. He'll just push off England if he gets handsy. "Fine, but I'll be guarding my virtue."

It is all England can do not to snort. What virtue might he possibly be talking about? He can only assume it's a joke. "As you please. I will be up soon."

Pressing the candle to Alfred's hands, he watches him disappear before taking another for himself. Might as well do a little cleanup. He'll let his turtledove have his rest. There is a flicker of amusement at the endearment until he sets his eyes on the food and the sting of Alfred's earlier observation comes back to him. How had he known?

After some trial and error, America finds England's room. He debates on how much to take off. Being too naked is just like an invitation for trouble but wearing too much is uncomfortable. After some compromises he finds a balance of comfort and practicality.

America tucks the pocket watch carefully beneath one of the items of clothing. If Arthur takes it he's more or less fucked. Though he's not quite sure if it will leave without him or if he has to be holding it like when he activates it. Probably best not to find out either way.

He yawns. It has been a very long day and he's learned some very interesting things, particularly about Arthur. Arthur, who is both surprisingly fascinating and a regular asshole all at once. Now he just wants some sleep. Everything else can be saved for the morning.

With a small puff of air he snuffs the candle and is plunged into darkness. Settling into the bed feels so good and he curls into the blankets. He sighs softly in contentment, closing his eyes. The silence winds around him, gently leading him towards sleep.

Just as he is tittering on the edge of unconsciousness something makes him tense up, though he can't quite say what the cause is. A soft breeze ruffles his hair as the faint scent of wildflowers tickles his nose. Is there a window open? Before he can sit up or even open his eyes to investigate he feels something on his face; the lightest brush of fingers cross his lips. There is the distinct thought, accompanied by a splash of fear, that it is a ghost. Before the idea can even fully manifest he is out cold.

~.

When things are tidy enough for Arthur's liking he decides it is time to retire. Besides, how can he stay away from such an appealing bed partner for so long? Chuckling softly to himself he heads upstairs. As he enters the room the dim light flickers on a pale figure and England is immediately on the defensive. "Who's there?"

There's a laugh, like the tinkling of bells. It is one he recognizes and his expression changes from shock to mild distress. "Queen Mab?"

Indeed it is the fairy queen, turning her fiercely elegant face towards him. "Good evening, Arthur."

England eyes her warily as she idly strokes Alfred's face and hair. He focuses on gathering his wits around him lest he say something he shouldn't. "My lady, if I might inquire, what are you doing here?"

"Are you not pleased to see me?" The words sound playful but he knows there is some mockery in them.

"I am always as pleased to see you as I am a spring day, you know this. I cannot help but wonder if there is not… some way I can serve you?" The words seem adequate and he waits tensely.

Mab sighs to herself and runs a finger down Alfred's cheek. He does not stir in the slightest. "Oh, you see that dreadful farce I was subjugated to earlier left me so upset I was looking to find something to cheer myself up."

"Is that so? I apologize for making her majesty so unhappy. What exactly do you seek to lift your mood?" His eyes drop to Alfred uneasily. It is hardly his intention to let Mab have him but defying the temperamental queen inevitably ends in some kind of hardship.

Mab traces the movement of his eyes and her smile becomes more amused. "I know I hardly need another pet at the moment and that Oberon is against it but I think there's no harm in it. You know how he can be, anyway."

England is not so foolish as to ever side with one against the other and holds his tongue. Mab's smile becomes more amused. Clever creature. She picks up the thread of her story. "I was in a most melancholic mood thinking about that hateful mortal's words. Ah, and then I thought of your companion here and it was like a ray of sunshine upon me after a horrid storm. I thought I might steal him to be my own playmate. You know I try not to take things from you, dear one, but I did not think you would particularly mind."

It is harder for England to bite his words back this time. He holds his breath for a moment then begins to speak. "My Queen, I-"

"However," Mab interjects sharply. "Certain truths have come to light upon closer inspection and it seems I cannot take this one as a playmate after all. I really must wonder where you found him, Arthur."

That takes England aback and he is not sure what to say. "If it is not so bold of me, may I ask what exactly these truths are?"

Queen Mab strokes Alfred's hair one more time then stands and glides over to Arthur, towering over him. Her eyes shine greater than any gem with mirth. "I would be more than happy to tell you. If you would only eat some of the food of my realm."

So that is how she's going to play it. This is quite the old game, though there are deadly serious consequences behind it. He bows his head respectfully. In this matter his hands are tied. "You know as much as it would please me to do so I have my obligations here just as you have yours. I will be happy to partake at the end of days. Before then I am determined to have the rest of the world at my feet."

Mab laughs softly, pressing a finger lightly to Arthur's lips. "It shall be so lovely when I finally have you and your brothers in my court. Unless one of you ends up finishing another off before that day."

She gives him a pointedly accusing look and he deflects his gaze, unable to hide the lack of remorse. "Indeed. We will all be pleased to serve your Majesties, I am sure."

"Hm." Mab pulls her finger away. "Then I suppose we are at an impasse of desires. You have always enjoyed a good riddle, anyway. I would hate to spoil it for you."

She turns and returns to Alfred's side, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "I wove a small enchantment around him. He will sleep heavily without any ill effects once he awakens. He is a handsome thing. Feel free to bring him along when your world does end."

The room fills with laughter as her body breaks into a colorful swarm of butterflies that quickly vanish into mere wisps of smoke. England takes a step forward, a question hanging on his lips. What does that mean? Is she merely teasing him or…?

A fleck of hot wax drips onto England's hand and brings him back to the immediate present. The candle is put off to the side and he goes to Alfred. It is lucky that Mab has not taken him, but why not? What is it about him that changed her mind? Is he one whose destiny is fixed? That would make it foolish for her to remove him from this realm and into hers. Perhaps Alfred is not a mere mortal. If not, then what? There are so many things. Some kind of spirit, a demi-god, a shape shifter, perhaps a myth or an otherworldly creature? Whatever he is, it is something that can be seen by other mortals.

As England's mind begins to work more furiously, things start to make a little more sense. Or at least, it might explain certain things if he is more than human. Everything from the way he looks to the way he speaks might be hinged on this. There are books upon books on such matters if one knows where to look, but this is not the time.

He cannot ask most of the creatures that hang around. Most of them fall within Mab and Oberon's court and if their queen will not divulge the information they surely will not. No matter. As Mab said, Arthur likes the challenge. Whatever Alfred is, he will figure it out without fail.

England tilts Alfred's face into the light, watching him sleep. "Just what are you trying to hide from me, Alfred? I shall have to take steps to reveal your true identity. Yes, and I think I know just the place to start."

After a moment he smirks and leans down, kissing Alfred on the lips. "We shall try iron to bind the fae."

~.

Waking up is a slow and tedious process. It takes several minutes for America to even float into anything resembling self-awareness. Opening his eyes is its own battle. He lets out a slow breath as his lashes finally flutter and the first rays of light rush in. Blinking rapidly, America gradually gets a better grip on full consciousness.

For some reason his body feels heavy and lethargic, like some kind of weird hangover without a headache. Had he been that tired last night? A minute or so of staring at the ceiling does not clear up his memory leading up to falling asleep last night. Oh well, must be fatigue. Heavy sleeping isn't exactly abnormal for him. He shifts slightly and a sting of pain shoots through his shoulder. A thousand pinpricks immediately spread along his shoulders. "What the…?"

America tries to sit up and finds that he can't. Instead, pain shoots along both arms with a follow up of discomfort accompanied by the jangle of metal. America tilts his head up and finds that his forearms have been wrapped in cloth and shackled to the headboard. "Oh come on! You've gotta be kidding me."

America slumps back, wincing as his entire back becomes a tingling field. "Arthur! Arthur, what is this shit?"

There's no response and America kicks a blanket off himself impatiently, squirming his body around to try and get the blood fully circulating again. If England had that food drugged or something so help him. In the middle of his internal grumbling America notices a piece of paper propped up on the side drawer. He squints, not quite able to make all the words out without Texas. He begins to read them out loud. "Alfred, I must attend to my dearest Elizabeth but will be back in- yada yada my name is Arthur and I can go suck a bag of dicks."

After a little bit more shimmying about America attempts to look at how his arms are fastened up. It requires a very awkward quirking of the neck. What's the deal with all of this anyway? At least the asshole bound his arms up so the metal hasn't chaffed the skin.

Even made of metal these aren't really a big deal, though. He can get them off no problem. The question is how does he want to go about it? Break the entire headboard and make Arthur wonder how he did it when he returns? Break a single link, get the cuffs off, then put it all back together and make it look like he's vanished out of thin air?

The former might be more fun but the latter is the more amusing of the two. Alfred works his wrists until he can feel his hands again. Thankfully there's enough slack for him to comfortably work with. When his fingers are cooperative enough for the nimble work required of them he feels out one of the links. A bit thick but hardly unbreakable. After finding where the metal has been joined he pinches it between his fingers and begins to bend it, working at it until he feels the metal give and snap. It only takes a moment to break it open completely from there. He slips it out of its fellow link and the chain goes slack on either side.

Arms now free, America sits up and properly stretches to get the rest of the blood flowing and get rid of that weird static feeling. Once the broken link is carefully put aside for future use America turns his attentions to the bulky cuffs on his wrists. Breaking them off outright won't work as well for his overall scheme. America's not too bad at picking locks but he doesn't really have anything on him to do the job.

His eyes sweep over the room to find some sort of tool he can use to jimmy them open. All he needs is a piece of metal or something similar. He gets up, the chains falling to his sides. The room is filled with items and there must be at least one thing that will be useful to him.

As America is rifling through a drawer a thrum goes through him that vibrates at the very core of him. Startled, he freezes up. It comes again and this time it is accompanied by a soft sound, constant and distant. With each passing second the sound becomes sharper until it takes on the undeniable identity of a ticking watch.

America whirls around, eyes immediately drawn to a muffled blue light. Surely it isn't that late in the day already? He hurries over to uncover the pocket watch, tossing away the piece of clothing he used to conceal it. Somehow the latch keeping it closed has popped open, revealing its face. The thrum comes again with a waft of sea breezes. This answers one question. The watch will activate without him. It seems his time based theory is correct. Which means he's out of time.

"Man, I'm not ready yet!" Somehow he doubts the watch really cares. America's eyes dart around, searching for something to get the cuffs off in time. Everything is a blur in his state of panic. "Come on, come on!"

Nothing. Cursing, America starts to rip one off, grunting softly from the effort before there's a satisfying click as it comes apart. It falls with a heavy clunk to the floor. The light is almost blinding now and America's heart jumps up into his throat. He can't afford to get left behind. Seems there's no choice.

America abandons the other cuff and snatches the watch up, the metal burning against his hand. Not a moment later he is overcome by that sensation of falling through the sea. His heart is pounding heavily as cold relief washes over him. That had been a little close for comfort. Just like a time based action flick! Yes, he is so cool!

America finds himself unceremoniously dumped onto the floor of England's weird magic dungeon. For a few minutes he sits and orients himself. Once his eyes have adjusted to the dark he stands and gropes around, finding his flashlight. He turns it on, gripping it between his teeth as he works the other cuff off.

It takes no time at all and once the cloth on his arms is unwrapped he searches out his clothes, trying to be quick and quiet about changing. The quiet part doesn't go so well when his elbow clips something that goes clashing to the floor. Although he winces and waits for England to come racing down the stairs he doesn't appear and America lets out a breath of relief. There are no further incidents as he finishes changing.

Packing the new clothes back in the bag along with the other half of the chain and shackle, America puts more effort into hiding everything this time. Once the watch has been safely restored to its proper place and his glasses have been restored to theirs, America sneaks his way upstairs and heads for England's bathroom. The bliss he felt the first time he had showered after coming back is nothing compared to this time. He also makes a point to brush his teeth for almost five minutes.

By the time he gets around to bouncing downstairs to make a quick exit he is feeling reborn. "Hey, England! "

While the clattering in the basement had not brought England, America's call has him in the doorway in a heartbeat. "Where have you been? Surely your call didn't… Did you use my shower again?"

"Yep! Hope you don't mind. You know how it gets when you're super busy! Gotta take advantages of showers when you can." America laughs boisterously. This England is such a pushover it's hard not to get carried away.

Annoyances flashes in England's eyes. "It doesn't bother me but you could have let me know. You dashed off straightway and I've been slaving away over the scones while you call who even knows and-! Who did you have to call, anyway?"

"Mm? Oh… No one important!" America hadn't really thought through who he might be calling but there are so many plausible choices it doesn't seem like that big of a deal. "About those scones, I-"

England stiffens a bit and he reaches forward, grabbing the sleeve of America's coat. "Oh no you don't! You aren't going to tell me you're about to jet off again after I've gone through all the trouble!"

It sounds like a demand but America knows it's actually more like a request. For a brief second he prepares to dismiss him and then like a bolt he remembers that this very man is going to go throw a 'very large sum of money' into the ocean all because of some stupid bet he made with him Even after all these centuries have passed. It had stricken him before but somehow now it seems even more incredible and all America can do is stare at him. Why does he even care anymore? It's a stupid bet made such a long time ago. So why bother?

America's disposition softens. Is there any reason he has to go running off right this second? Not really. The least he can do for this dope is eat his god awful scones. It's not like he hates England. He's never _hated _him. Even despite various injuries in the past… and the more current past (if that even makes any sense).

England snaps his fingers in front of America's face. "Are you just going to gape at me all day? Are you staying or not?"

America blinks, mouth opening. There's a weird realization on top of everything else that England wants him to stay. Maybe that's not so weird. He does randomly invite America over even when it is awkward or boring. America licks his lips and tries to speak again with more success. "Yeah! Duh, I mean I wouldn't come ask for you to make scones if I was going to run off. I was just going to ask how much time they have left."

England's stance relaxes, though his expression remains peeved to hide the flash of pleasure. "About five minutes or so. They would have been done sooner but I was waiting for you to come back to start them then put them in when I figured you weren't coming back anytime soon."

"No need to sound like you want to bite my head off about it. Hm… You know I've always wondered about something." Without a further word America walks to the kitchen.

England trails after his heels. "What have you always wondered?"

"Well, everything you make always turns out burned to a charcoal crisp. So I was wondering…" America grabs an oven mitt and pulls the oven door open. England tries to protest but he has already pulled the scones out. They are browning on the top but unburnt. "Why don't you ever pull them out earlier than the given time? See?"

England stares at them looking mystified before snapping out of it. "I-! Some of us are dedicated to following things by the book!"

America laughs, setting the scones down on top of the oven. "Oh, well you must excuse crazy devil-may-care sorts like myself who live on the edge. I'll refrain from doing something so wild in your presence again lest you faint."

"Oh do shut up!" England glares at the scones as if they have betrayed him. "Point noted."

They fall into silence as England digs out a plate for the traitors, grumbling to himself. America watches him. It's a little strange how differently he interacts with England now and England in the past and how easily he transitions between the two. Maybe it's because it's still difficult for him to acknowledge the simple truth that they are one and the same even though on a fundamental level he knows they are. They're just so different. Well, maybe not so much as he originally thought. Still, it's hard to imagine this man grumbling about scones getting off to fucking someone looking at a map of his country.

Thinking about those kinds of things are too serious for him. It's all kind of silly in the end. America will see England in the past two more times and that will be it forever and then they'll both go along with their lives. Except for the whole fulfilling their bet thing. Nope, too serious. "Hey, remind me to invite you to the premier of my new movie when I finish it. Burgerman!"

England snorts as he carefully moves the hot baked goods to the plate. "You have the most rubbish ideas. What makes you think I'd even want to see something like that?"

"Fine then, be that way. But it'll be awesome. I was only inviting you because I was inspired around…here." Maybe not 'here' but it had been England's house and... Yeah, close enough.

"I guess I'll go, just to see how ridiculous it is." And it will be an excuse to spend more time with America. Not that the git needs to know that.

"Well now I have to think about it." Impatient, America reaches over and rips one of the scones in half to let it cool faster. It only burns his fingers a little bit. When the upper half is tolerable to the touch he takes a bite. "Mm… Not burnt. Not bad… But still bland."

As America laughs at his own supposed wittiness, England gingerly takes the bottom half of the scone. He doesn't even dignify the stupidity with his anger, looking it over coolly before taking a bite. "Then put some jam on it you twat."

America nudges him roughly with his elbow before going over to the fridge to find some. Honestly, man has no sense of humor. At least these are more edible than some of the other things he's had to stomach over the years.

England nibbles on the scone, annoyed that it tastes better than his usual burnt messes, and watches America with internalized affection. He almost asks about the phone call again then lets it drop. No matter who Alfred might be seeing, right now he's here with Arthur and that's more than satisfactory enough for him.

~.

It is later than England had intended to return but there is no helping such things sometimes. He can only hope that Alfred is not too uncomfortable in his current predicament. It will be hard to resist the urge to tease him, being all chained up, but he'll do right by him for the unexpected duration of his imprisonment.

The shock England feels when he enters the bedroom barely shows outwardly but he feels it in his very bones. Alfred is gone. A few quick strides have him at the bed. His foot brushes against something and there is the scrape of metal against wood. England looks down slowly, crouching to pick up the other half of the chain. He examines the broken cuff, intrigue growing by the moment. "Damn."

A general inspection of the room shows little else of what might have happened. The only other thing he finds is the initial broken link. He clicks his tongue and takes a seat on the bed. "Definitely not a fae, then."

This has only made Alfred that much more interesting to him. Whatever he might be, Arthur will have to make a show of apology in some way. Luring a human back in after a stunt like that isn't too bad, but the temperament of something else… It's hard to say. Alfred might not even come back to him. But oh, Arthur truly hopes he does. There is still a mystery to be solved and a heart to be wooed.

* * *

**Notes**:

Weight – At this time having some extra weight was still a sign of health, prosperity, and abundance. It could still be used as a means of teasing by some. In poorer times it might have been more as a critique of someone who did not share their wealth as a wag of the finger type comment.

Withdrawing room – What a drawing room used to be referred to as.

Iron to bind the fae – In some fairy lore, it is possible to entrap and or critically weaken fairies by using iron. I've also seen this principle used with other creatures, even dragons one time. Arthur is testing whether Alfred falls into the category of a fae creature by seeing if iron has a particularly weakening effect on him. The reason he bound his arms with cloth beforehand was so that if it did the metal would not burn his skin. It only makes sense that someone like England, who has such close ties and affection with fairies/mythical creatures, would not want to blatantly harm one.


	12. Chapter 12

So it's a little under a year since I last updated this. Oops. I'm really sorry! Thank you to everyone who continued to read this and support it even after so long! I promise I will do my best to get the next chapter out much sooner! At this pace it'll take forever to finish after all. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer, too. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

England chews on the end of his pipe, mouth turned downwards in a severe frown. Spread before him is an array of books and faded journals that curl around the edges filled with mythology and folklore; archaic scraps of paper, notes, letters, and the occasional scroll are intermingled beneath and between them so that there is not even a glimpse of the heavy dark wood of the desk's surface.

"What are you? Not a fae, so what?" England flips idly through one of the books again then slams it shut in disgust and pushes it away.

He takes a slow drag from the pipe, tilting his head back as he parts his lips and exhales, watching as the smoke curls before his eyes. Chances are, whatever Alfred is, he's from nearby. His fair skin and blue eyes have focused Arthur's research to some degree but it still leaves quite a bit to work with. Is he from the Nordic lands? Alfred said he traveled and had even called England his home for a while. Some mortal had housed him and might yet still.

Something like a selkie comes to mind but it doesn't quite fit. It is possible he is a creature of his brothers' lands. Or maybe he is not a creature at all? A spirit of the air, perhaps. The image fits him. He is quite strong, clearly. Some kind of demi-human? A shifter? Whatever he is, Queen Mab dare not risk taking her to the fairy realm and that adds its own weight. If only Alfred will come back.

Arthur's brow furrows. It has been a little while since his darling dear has come to visit. Has he pushed things too far by binding him? He is prepared to make retributions to appease any damage done, even if the price may prove costly, but he can't even try if Alfred does not return to him. He is still holding out hope. It had been over a fortnight between his first and second visit, after all. A little over the same amount of time has gone by, so there is no reason to think all hope is lost quite yet.

The mystery is consuming him and Arthur wants to rip it to pieces. This lad who once seemed so dull—if not exceptionally pretty—is now haunting his thoughts. The allure is strong and he pauses to try and recapture how it feels to run his calloused fingers along that sun-kissed skin.

Arthur clamps the pipe between his teeth and pulls a scroll closer at random, unwinding the string around it. It contains information on a woodland spirit that only manifests itself in the form of a young female. Quite useless. Nothing to do but to keep searching. There very well might be an answer somewhere among these tomes he has collected over time. He will discover what Alfred is yet and then he will claim his heart.

~.

The fragile scent of perfectly brewed tea hangs pleasantly in the air, like a lover's sigh. Arthur takes a sip, eyes closed, and it is bliss. Truly the greatest advantage that time has given him is teaching him how to perfect the art of tea.

America watches as England more or less has an orgasm sipping tea and is extremely tempted to bring up—yet again—the fact that England was in fact one of the last European countries to even get it. This tidbit of information is highly irritating to Arthur, who can't figure out where the git even picked up a fact that wasn't about himself, and so of course Alfred particularly loves to tease him with it. The urge passes and he noisily slurps his coffee. Arthur's eyebrow twitches and it feels like a small victory.

As tempted as England is to tell America he is a tactless wanker that really scraped the bottom of his shoe as far as high culture goes, he is mostly satisfied that America is here of his own free will. The very fact that they have been talking more frequently in general pleases him far more than he deigns to let on. It's mostly through silly things like texts or brief e-mails (with far too many emoticons and pictures in both) but it is actual conversation and that's what counts.

America has been keeping closer tabs on England so he can drop by unannounced without it being overly suspicious but part of it is that he's kind of warmed up to him in a way he hasn't in a long, long time. Not exactly the same as when he was little but his automatic reaction to snub anything England bothers to say as stupid and boring has decreased quite a lot, which is saying something. Sometimes he even finds himself being taken off guard when he is reminded what listening to Arthur is really like. Maybe his topics of conversation can get on the archaic side but he has a way of turning a phrase so beautifully at times and America is starting to learn that if he says the right thing or asks the right questions he can actually squeeze more interesting stories out of him. Part of that he's picked up from interacting with past England.

Of course this train of thought reminds him he's doing this to get back into the past. It's still weird to him that he's actually enjoying England's company, though—mostly. He's still a pretty snobbish jerk. There is one thing that America is starting to wonder about more and more, though, and that is England's lack of bragging about what a total badass he was during his 'glorious most amazing thing ever golden age'.

Alfred has of course heard stories about some of the people England particularly remembers fondly or is proud of but he never talks about himself. Quite frankly Alfred can't figure it out. Is he embarrassed about how lame he is now in comparison? Maybe he just feels he shouldn't let such stories fall on 'innocent' ears such as his former colony. Alfred is a big kid! He can do global politics all on his own and everything. He's dying to hear Arthur's take on what he once was like, when he was still interesting. If nothing else to hear him forced to admit he's a total goober now.

England takes another serene sip of tea and America looks at him curiously. Maybe he should just bring it up. It's not like he's in a rush to get at that pocket watch and he still hasn't come up with a good enough excuse to get away for a bit, though he's cooking something up. No time like the present to ask about the past, right? "Hey I was wondering something recently. Why do you never talk about your glory days?"

Arthur sighs, as if he is being put upon to have to answer such tedious questions instead of drinking tea. "What do you mean? I have indulged you in plenty of stories about that time."

Oh, so he's going to be stubborn about it. What a surprise—not. "Well I mean you brag all the time about stuff you're proud of, yeah, and uh…the other day Fffrrrance? Yeah let's go with him. France was mentioning your glory days back around the golden age and that's when you were really cool, right? So why do I never hear about all that?"

Arthur seems irritated all of a sudden and fixes his gaze on Alfred, not pleased about the question in the least. "I don't know what on Earth you mean. I've told you loads about Elizabeth and William and—"

"Yeah, but that's the thing. I've heard a million stories about them mostly and maybe a few others I probably forgot because I just don't care. I realized that you never talk about yourself though and I don't understand why. You were really different back then, weren't you? Like, actually cool? Why don't you ever talk about what you were like? Kind of a total badass that did whatever—"

Arthur slams his hand against the table, making Alfred jump and his teacup shiver against its saucer. "Enough of that rubbish, I don't want to hear another bloody word of it! There was nothing 'cool' about me. I don't know what kind of romantic stories France has been spouting but he's a bloody liar. I was horrible back then. We all were. Things were so different back then Alfred, you must understand. In those days I was so sure I was going to have the whole world in the palm of my hand and-"

Arthur pauses, squeezing the bridge of his nose as Alfred stares at him, wide-eyed and startled. "Maybe you think I'm boring now, some old bloke who sits around in jumpers drinking tea. Well, let me tell you something, I like myself a hell of a lot better now than who I used to be and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Maybe I changed but so did the rest of the world. I'm more mature now. More civilized. A hell of a lot more intelligent, bloody hell was I stupid back then. It's _embarrassing_. Don't get me wrong, I have fond memories from back then. Sometimes I'm even a little homesick for it. For certain people. But don't let any of the others give you overly romanticized visions of how it was back then. I was not a very decent individual and there is much I prefer to keep firmly in the past."

Alfred is in a total state of shock, not sure what to say. "Oh."

England sighs, rubbing one of his bountiful brows. "I didn't mean to rant. It's different for you, Alfred. You are too young to know what the world was like. I'm not saying things aren't a bloody mess now and there's still plenty of God awful things going around. It was just different, is all. To put it in another way; remember that picture from the seventies Canada has of you that he uses as blackmail sometimes?"

America cringes and England can't help his lip from quirking up in a small smile. "As I said. There are things I do miss from that time in my life but I don't tend to miss who I was. It's like looking back on a humiliating picture and I can't bear it. I would rather remember the things and people I was fond of than what I was like."

This is not the answer that Alfred anticipated and he's still left somewhat speechless by it. The England he's met in the past seems so much more exciting and filled with energy than his England. It's true that England had been way more of an ass back then, more forceful and uncouth, but America really expected him to have more envy of what he'd once been.

England reaches down to pick up his tea, pressing it thoughtfully to his lower lip a moment without drinking. "Perhaps…it is difficult for you to understand because you are still at that stage."

America gives him an affronted look. "And what is that supposed to mean exactly?"

The only answer he gets for a moment is a chuckle before England takes a long sip, finishing off his cup. He sets it down, smirking at America. "Don't take it so seriously, love. It's okay to be young. Can't exactly help that. Unfortunately."

America crosses his arms, hating that he suddenly feels like he's being treated like he's nothing more than a colony. Another part of him he's too pouty and confused to listen to gets the idea it in fact is the opposite. That by saying such a thing Arthur is actually treating him a little more grown up than usual.

He grabs his coffee and drinks down the rest, pushing the cup towards England. Time to set up his distraction. "Can I get some more?"

England rolls his eyes and the moment seems lost. For some reason America has a pang of regret that he's severed it so hastily. England doesn't often talk to him so frankly unless it's criticism.

There's no time to even consider trying to backpedal. England sniffs in disapproval and picks up the cup. "Have you ever considered cutting down your caffeine intake? You might be able to sit still for five seconds."

"Well what's the fun in that? Is that a no on a refill?" America raises his eyebrows at him, his shock from before no longer evident.

"Sure, sure. I will inadvertently feed your addiction. If you start bouncing off the walls I'll have to ask you to leave." England stands, grabbing his own cup to top off his tea so long as they're at it. This has been going well, with not so much as a hint of suggestion of some potential lover. The question took him off guard and he maybe overreacted. Alfred is curious and misguided, that's all.

As England is almost out of the room America stands. "Hey, I'm going to use your bathroom."

England pauses, suddenly looking unamused. "Are you going to take another shower?"

"What feats of danger will Alfred F. Jones perform next? Will he swim with the sharks tied to rib-eye steaks? Will he cross a tightrope between the tallest buildings in the world while blindfolded? Will he perform the unmentionable, death defying act of taking a shower? The world watches with bated breath!"

"Don't be an arse and just go already. Bloody fucking hell you are obnoxious."

America laughs loudly and they go their separate ways, England to the kitchen and America most certainly not to the bathroom. He slips quietly down to the basement, once again prepared with a pocket flashlight. He didn't figure that Arthur had found his stuff or he'd have probably heard about it but Alfred is still relieved when he finds the bag exactly as he'd left it.

As America begins to change, what England said continues to weigh heavily on his mind. Past England isn't the most amiable sort and definitely has his drawbacks but comparing him to the picture of which no one is allowed to speak of that Canada lords over him, it's too weird. He can't help but wonder if past England would hold as much contempt for his future incarnation.

As there's no way to ever know, America finally lets the topic slip from his mind. Once he is dressed, America finds the pocket watch. He runs his thumb across the surface and feels a dull thrum through his chest. As short-lived as the time traveling bits are, he feels he's almost become addicted to the sensation of it.

The watch is open and America can't remember if he did that or if it happened on its own. It doesn't matter, blue light once again washing over him. The ticking that goes through his whole body is accompanied by the scent of the sea. By now the weightless feeling that comes with this is soothing.

After this there will only be one more visit. What can be accomplished in his final two visits? Despite England's half-rant half-lecture about the past, America is still plenty excited to find out.

* * *

**AN: **You know, a lot of the time Pirate!England or past England is really glorified in comparison to present England but after I really thought about it I decided England probably wouldn't really want to be like that again. I definitely feel like except for maybe some of the more glamorous and powerful aspects of his past, he'd be more likely to consider it an embarrassing and somewhat shameful phase of his life.


End file.
